Record Deals
by TimeSpace64
Summary: December 30th, 1968: All of the Monkees fans know what day it is, and for the band, it turns out to be the beginning of another adventure none of them really want to go on, but what choice do they have when the four Monkees start disappearing one by one? This story was co-written by SixtiesGirl and disclaimers stated in the chapters. No slash either.
1. Chapter 1-Yes, We're Going to a Party

_**Hello there! Before the story begins, I need to take care of disclaimers and credits. For one, this story was co-written by Sixties Girl, and neither of us own the Monkees, the television show, the band, the music, the characters, or the Beatles, their music, or the White Album. I hope you enjoy the story, please read & review, it's always appreciated. Thank you for clicking on this story to read, too! Have fun & enjoy!**_

 _ **-TimeSpace64**_

* * *

Chapter 1- Yes, We're Going to a Party 

CRASH!

Mike could feel his whole body cringe at the sound. He opened one eye and looked to the bed that was supposed to occupy Micky. Obviously, it was empty. Mike flung himself out of bed, at this point not bothering to pick up his wool hat as he made for the door. _'What is he doing down there?'_ he thought. He flung the door open, revealing himself on the balcony above the pad. However, his sneaky roommates were nowhere to be found. Mike sighed and climbed down the metal staircase, regretting the fact that he didn't put anything on his feet. It was late December so the stairs were very cold.

"Micky?" He called out. He didn't get a response.

Mike sighed and wondered what time it was. It was early, so the light coming through the windows wasn't incredibly bright. He considered going back to bed and letting Micky wreck havoc on the entire neighbourhood, but he knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. He started towards the kitchen when suddenly his three band mates appeared from nowhere.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY MIKE!" They all cheered.

Mike jumped back to what seemed like 10 feet, which then made him regret not putting shoes on even more. He looked down to find he was sitting in the remains of what he _assumed_ was a cake, with a metal platter sitting next to him. He looked up at his friends, cocking an eyebrow. They all had genuinely guilty and embarrassed looks on their faces.

"Happy Birthday Tiny," Mike tried saying without sarcasm or anger in his voice.

"Happy Birthday Mike," Davy replied, almost hidden behind Peter by this point.

Mike sighed and climbed out of the deconstructed cake. "I need to get cleaned up," he explained, "Y'all need to clean this cake up, too." Mike headed towards the bathroom to have shower, trying his best not to trail cake all along the floor, which was pretty tricky.

Davy quickly moved to pick up the metal plate while Micky moved to get a broom. Just as Mike got to the bathroom door, Peter called out to him, causing him to turn around.

"What is it, Pete?" Mike sighed. He really needed some coffee. 

"Happy Birthday Mike," Peter said sheepishly, but meaningfully.

Mike smiled, "Thanks shotgun."

"Jeez Mick, why'd you have to drop the cake?" Davy complained, Micky' s not-so-accurate sweeping sending small chunks of filthy cake into his face. Davy spit some cake out unceremoniously as Peter entered the room once more.

"Now we need to make another cake!" Peter grinned.

' _God_ ,' Micky thought, ' _How does Peter manage to be so optimistic all the time?_ '

"How are we supposed to do that?" asked Davy. "We used everything we had on the last cake."

"Maybe we could buy a cake?" Micky suggested.

"But the bakery is probably closed, it's that time between Christmas and New Year when everyone takes time off!" Davy explained.

"There's no harm in going to see if they're open," Peter said.

This time Micky said it, "How are you so optimistic all the time, Peter?" Peter looked at him and shrugged.

"Right!" Micky proclaimed, dumping the last of the cake into the trash. "Davy, you stay here with Mike, Pete & I'll go find a new cake for the two of you."

"Wait, why do _I_ have to stay with Mike?" Davy protested.

"Because it's your birthday, too." Peter pointed out, far too innocently. "Did you forget it was your birthday?"

Micky and Davy couldn't dare respond, let alone sarcastically. "Oh," Davy pretended, "Thanks Peter."

Peter grinned meaningfully as Micky pushed him out the door.

Micky and Peter climbed into the MonkeeMobile and Micky turned on the engine. "Mike isn't a big fan of me driving, but if anyone is going to get any cake, this is the only way!"

Fortunately, the bakery was open and there was a line of cakes in the glass displays. Micky and Peter agreed that they should get a two-tier cake instead of a one tier cake because it was two people's birthday and they split the bill, since neither of them had enough money to buy the cake on their own.

Mike was very organised when it came to gig money. One quarter was saved to pay the rent, another quarter was used to buy food, and the last half was split evenly between the four to buy what they wanted. Micky spent his on ingredients for his experiments, Davy spent his on buying presents for his 'girlfriend of the week,' and Peter used his to buy candles or "whatever hippy stuff he stashes in his drawers," as Davy would say. Micky, Peter, and Davy all knew that Mike usually split most of his money into the 'rent paying' and 'food buying' categories, but none of them really mentioned it. Micky had spent most of last gigs earnings on buying ingredients for Mike and Davy's first cake, so Peter had to put in most of his money to buy this one. As they climbed back into the car armed with a new cake, Micky wondered how Davy was doing alone in a house with Mike Nesmith before he had any coffee.

* * *

Mike Nesmith returned to the living room, now fully clothed, wool hat included. While he was in the shower, Davy quickly started some coffee up for him. Upon entering the kitchen, he found Davy scrambling to pour him a cup.

"Cool it, shotgun. I can get my own cup of coffee. Remember, it's your birthday too." Mike's accent was especially thick this morning, Davy noted. Something wasn't right. Mike's Texan drawl usually didn't get that thick unless there was a serious matter that needed to be dealt with.

Davy raised his arms in surrender and sat back down at the table, picking up his bowl of sugary milk that once contained Frosted Flakes, slurping it dry.

Mike watched in amusement at the little Englishman. Suddenly, they heard the engine of the MonkeeMobile roar from outside. Mike's eyes widened at the realization of Micky and Peter's disappearance.

"Where are they going?" Mike asked.

"Well, you've been in the shower for a while, so they are actually back now!" Davy smiled.

"Okay, what _were_ they doing?" Mike questioned.

Davy didn't need to answer that because a second later the door to the pad swung open and in came Micky and Peter, with Micky carrying a very large chocolate cake.

"Wow! That looks great guys!" Davy said, smiling.

"How much did that cost?" asked Mike, sighing.

"You'll find out on the first when we have to pay rent!" Micky grinned, setting it on the table.

Mike's face was ceremoniously planted into his left hand, with his right supporting then left.

"Micky..."

"Calm down Mike, he's kidding... right Mick?" Davy said. 

"Of course!" Peter added, helping Micky put the cake on the table. "I paid for most of it since Micky paid for the ingredients to the first cake."

Mike nodded and took another sip of coffee. As Peter and Micky began bickering about candles, Mike leaned left in order to make eye contact with the Englishman on the other side of the cake. Mike cocked an eyebrow, causing Davy to silently snicker, rolling his eyes. Suddenly, the argument stopped and was replaced with Micky and Peter trying to tune to each other. Mike and Davy studied them as they seemingly did so. Peter's eyes suddenly widened as he raced back outside. Peter re-entered, carrying a large white record case. He ran over to the record player and began fiddling with it. Micky beckoned Peter to work faster, but Peter said he was trying. Suddenly, an unfamiliar tune rang in the pad, startling Mike & Davy. Peter raced back over to Micky, as they began to sing along to the record.

"They say it's your birthday!" They sang along. "It's my birthday too, yea!"

Mike and Davy burst out laughing, joining in, even though they have never heard the new song. After trying to tune to the record, they realized it was the voices of the Beatles.

In spite of himself, Mike laughed as he and Davy tried their best to sing along. Sure, there was rent to pay and food to buy, but it was his birthday, and Davy's birthday too. His friends had tried so hard to make him happy, so hard in fact that they had succeeded. Mike didn't know what he would do without his band mates. They were always there to tell him when he was being too harsh on himself.

The record ended and Micky turned it off. "Now it's time for the presents!" Peter cheered.

"Oh, you shouldn't have guys!" Davy laughed.

Mike sighed, "I guess I'll find out how much they cost when I go to pay the rent too."

Micky laughed, "We didn't buy you THAT many presents! Christmas wasn't long ago so Peter and I only bought you one each."

Peter elbowed Micky in the side. When Micky protested wildly, Peter tried point back towards the record player. Suddenly Micky mellowed out. "Okay, um, technically two gifts, but one you'll have to share."

A nice, warm smile reappeared on Peter's face as he ran over to the record player, packing the record away into its white case. Micky ran back outside, reappearing with two oddly thin gifts.

"What'd you get us, Micky? Paper?" Davy commented sarcastically. Micky placed the corresponding gift in front of his friends, while Peter beckoned them to stand as he held the second gift with him.

When Mike and Davy stood, Peter held out the white album to them. Davy took the album and observed it. "It's, er, white."

"It's the Beatles' new album. That one was a last minute choice. By last minute I mean decided upon when we passed the record store on our way to get the cake." Micky explained sheepishly.

Mike gave Micky a look before asking if the other gifts were okay to open. Micky nodded. Michael and David picked up their gifts and simultaneously opened them. They were records, but not recorded by the Beatles.

"Whoah! How did you guys pull this off?" Davy asked, admiring the cover.

Mike wasn't even worried about the cost that might upset him later. He and Davy' s gift, it was spectacular. In his hands he held the songs that wove so many of their memories together. He was holding a Monkees album. Comparing his to Davy' s, the two albums were different. The album Mike was holding was titled simply, 'The Monkees' and contained almost all of their songs from 1966 while Davy's was titled, 'More of The Monkees' which contained most of their stuff from early '67. Mike was speechless.

"We decided to put our early songs on there, so then if and when we make more, everything will be in chronological order," Micky explained.

"I wondered why you had been making us sing lots of our older songs recently, so you could record them," realized Davy, "You hid the recorder well!"

"Sorry about the unimaginative names," apologized Peter. "We just wanted them to have our names on them so that the public would know it was us."

"THE PUBLIC!?" exclaimed Davy. Mike remained flabbergasted.

Micky was grinning broadly now, "We didn't just make these copies for you, we managed to get a few copies into almost all of the record stores in California!"

"HOW?!" Mike asked or yelled depending on how close you were to him. "The cost!"

"It wasn't just us," smiled Peter. "Though we put lots of our money in, we have been in the neighbourhood for years. We have made some enemies, but lots of friends, and everyone chipped in."

"What do you mean by everyone?" asked Davy.

"Well, remember that chambermaid who we helped make successful when helping the Princess Bettina? She remembered us and gave us a fair amount of money. That Pop Harper, whose job we helped save, as well as your Grandfather, Davy. He has always wanted you to be a success so he chipped in. Oh! And that owner of the Italian restaurant, he was grateful that we saved his restaurant," explained Micky.

"Then there was Millie from down the road, she remembers Mike asking her to help make him a success, so she wanted to help anyway she could, April Conquest gave money, as did the neighbours whose houses we saved from being knocked down, and Mike's Aunt Kate and Niles gave us some money as well!" Peter continued.

"Even Mr. Babbit gave us a little bit of money!" exclaimed Micky, "In the end, all of that ended up being a lot of money, so we took our recording to a record company, they contacted Chic Magazine, who had some photos of us from when they wrote that article on us, and tada! We have released two albums for all of California to listen to!"

"We could really be noticed! 1969 could be the year of The Monkees!" Peter cheered.

"Guys, you really outdid yourselves with our presents this year!" Davy laughed.

"What do you think Mike?" asked Micky. Mike wasn't usually a very emotional type, he wasn't like Peter who wore his heart on his sleeve, but when Micky had started listing all who had given them money, a few tears had welled up in his eyes, and by this stage he was full on crying.

"What's wrong Michael?" Peter asked, concerned.

Then Mike put the album down and wrapped Micky and Peter into a massive hug, soon pulling Davy in too. "Thank you," Mike whispered in between sobs.


	2. Chapter 2- One Down

Chapter 2- One Down

Davy, Peter, and Micky held Michael close, for at the rate he was crying, he couldn't possibly keep himself upright. After several long moments, Mike quickly sobered up, saying they should probably start eating the cake. They all agreed, especially Micky, and gathered around the table. Peter suggested they listened to an album, and they all agreed. Davy handed Peter his album and Peter popped it onto the record player. The cake-eating portion of the day ended in a disaster that would take a while to clean up.

"So Mike, will we ever see that again?" Micky questioned, popping a large piece of cake into his mouth.

"See what?"

"You balling like a baby." Micky replied. Davy and Peter both gave him a look, pleading not to cross that line with Mike. They were too late.

Suddenly, Micky's face was coated in green frosting and chunks of chocolate and spice cake. Micky wiped his eyes free while he licked the layers around his mouth. He then ran over to Mike, rubbing his frosted hands onto his face. Davy and Peter quickly stood up and ran to the other side of the room and watched as _Mary, Mary_ turned Mike and Micky's food fight into a classic Monkees' romp. When Micky planted Mike's face _into_ the cake, Davy and Peter finally decided to break it up, just as _Your Auntie Grizelda_ ended. Peter grabbed Mike as Davy grabbed Micky, dragging them to opposite ends of the room, keeping them far away from the cake.

"Wow Mike, I didn't know you had it in you." Peter said, handing Mike a towel.

Without second thoughts, Mike slapped a handful of frosting onto Peter's face, replying. "Now what made you think I didn't?" He turned and cocked an eyebrow at Micky, who made eye contact and nodded, proceeding to place some cake onto the short Englishman who had just returned to him with a towel.

A knock on the door interrupted their shenanigans. Mike quickly wiped his face and discarded his cake-drenched wool hat and raced to check to see who as at the door. He opened the hatch to the door. He whole attitude suddenly sobered as he slipped out the door, closing it behind him.

"Mike? Davy asked. He looked to his band mates, all of their attitudes sober. "I wonder who's out there."

Micky tossed the towel on the ground, his face still sticky. He crossed his arms. "That's not like Michael." He wiggled his nose. His face was beginning to feel weird from the stickiness.

* * *

"What do you want?" Michael asked BabyFace Morales.

"You know."

* * *

"Oh well," said Micky, "Maybe it's just Babbitt or someone, but I'm going to have a shower." He then disappeared into the bathroom. Davy and Peter went to get mops and brooms to clean up the second cake they had destroyed that day.

"I hope this doesn't become a trend," muttered Davy, but Peter didn't hear him. He was staring at the door, waiting for Mike to come back in.

"Who do you think he's talking to?" asked Peter.

Davy shrugged, "As Micky said, it's probably Babbit, or maybe it's Millie wishing him happy birthday."

"But if it was Millie then she would have come in to tell you as well, Davy," Peter worried.

"I thought Micky asked you how you could be optimistic all of the time earlier, Pete! Now you're the complete opposite! Just give Mike some privacy," Davy complained. Micky came out of the bathroom and Davy went in to have his, just as Micky picked up the broom to keep cleaning, Mike stormed back in, looking upset.

"Who was that Mike?" Micky queried.

"You!" Mike snapped. Peter flinched.

"What?" asked Micky.

Mike took a deep breath and smiled (Peter thought it looked forced). "Oh, it was just some person selling vacuum cleaners," Mike explained. Micky and Peter stared at him for a moment, puzzled, then Davy came out of the shower.

"'Ey! Mike's back!" laughed Davy. "Now nobody smash any more cakes from now on!" Mike laughed at that and everything seemingly returned to normal. Peter didn't believe when Mike said it was nothing, and was determined to find out the truth, but Mike and the others were all ready to have a good time, so Peter decided he wouldn't question Mike until the next night.

The rest of the night went smoothly for the boys. They eventually got around to listening to all three albums, and Davy successfully prevented another cake disaster when Micky set Mike over the edge again. It was about 7:23pm when three of the four Monkees passed out almost randomly among the pad. Davy swung mindlessly in the hammock as Mike snored blissfully on the couch. Micky seemed to be the only one sensible enough to sleep in a bed, even though it was Davy's. Peter sat at the table, watching his roommates sleep, swimming in memories of pirates, Russian agents, and evil song producers.

There was a soft tap on the front door, but Peter heard it. He stood up and walked over to the door, wondering who could be out at this hour. All the same though, he opened the flap to the door to see who it was. It was a woman. She had long, blond hair with rosy cheeks that complimented her chocolate brown eyes. She peered up at Peter through the hole. Peter couldn't resist the helpless look in her eyes. He opened the door, asking what he could do for the woman. She grabbed him by the shirt, yanked him down to her level, and pulled him into a long, passionate kiss. When she released the bass player, he wobbled, unsure what just happened. However, by the smirk on the girl's face. It obviously wasn't good. Suddenly, Peter's whole world went dark.

* * *

Davy woke up and tried to roll over, only to find himself fall out of the hammock, which woke him right up. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Forgot where I was," he muttered to himself.

Somehow the loud noise of falling off the hammock hadn't woken the others up, so he looked at his watch to see that it was about 4am. He was hungry, so he made himself a sandwich. He could see Mike sleeping on the couch and wondered where Micky and Peter were.

He grabbed his sandwich and munched on it pleasingly as he wandered into his bedroom. Davy intended on getting into his own bed once he finished the sandwich in three bites. He soon found out where Micky was when he attempted to get into his bed. He should have turned the lights on.

"Ow! Hey man, what are you doing?!" complained Micky groggily when Davy sat on him.

"What am I doing?" whispered the Englishman. "What are you doing in me bed?!"

"Your bed?" asked Micky, confused,"I thought it was Mike's."

"What does that matter? Sleep in your own bed Mick!" Davy complained loudly, before quickly covering his mouth. "Oops, shouldn't speak too loudly, we'll wake Mike. He's out on the couch."

Micky sat up and looked over to Peter's bed. "Then where is Peter? Mike's downstairs, you and I are up here, where's Pete?"

Davy stood up and turned the light on. "You're right, he's not 'ere is he? He wasn't downstairs when I woke up."

"Maybe he is out on the beach. What time is it?" Micky asked.

"Four." Davy replied before they both rushed downstairs, somehow quietly as not to wake Mike, before heading out onto the porch and onto the beach. Unfortunately, Peter was not on the beach, he was somewhere much less pleasant...


	3. Chapter 3- Lost

Chapter 3- Lost

Peter was vaguely aware that he was awake. He didn't open his eyes, but instead tried to figure out where he was by touch. He felt like he was lying down, but he wasn't on a floor. He was lying down in what felt like dirt and what felt like long grass was brushing against his face. He could also tell that he had been sweating because he could feel his blond hair plastered to his forehead.

 _'What happened?'_ he thought to himself, ' _Oh right! That girl…'_ That had been a good kiss, but evidently things had not ended well for him. He opened his eyes. It was dark, but not completely dark. There was a glimmer of sunlight, so he guessed it was maybe 5 am, possibly 6. He sat up and immediately regretted it. A screeching pain shot through his chest, which made him cry out. He looked down and saw that his shirt was soaked in blood.

That was not good.

He stood up slowly and painfully, glad to discover that his limbs didn't seem broken and peered into the dim light. He was in a wheat field and that was all he could see for miles. The low sky was lit up like a painting. He was alone and he was scared; very, very, scared. He took a deep breath and pain screamed in his torso. Now he was even more scared. He felt tears well up in his eyes and began to cry, which only caused him more agony.

"Micheal?" he sobbed, "Micky? David?" There was no response except the wheat waving in the wind.

Peter continued to sob as he turned on the spot and tried to figure out what to do next. He figured that his best bet would be to walk in one direction until he found a road, or a river, or a house, so he started walking. A cold breeze chilled the bassist, for he was just wearing a pair of orange jeans and what had been a blue buttoned up shirt. He was covered in sweat, blood and tears, plus his chest threatened to burst open every time he moved, so he wasn't the most comfortable of people.

 _'At least I'm wearing shoes,'_ he thought to himself, _'But shoes won't do me any good if I'm dead. Maybe I should have brought two pairs of shoes.'_ He was just glad that he didn't seem to bleeding anymore.

After a few hours of wading through the wheat, the sun was up above the horizon and he found a road and collapsed at the side of it.

"That was one massive wheat field!" he said out loud, despite the misery it caused him. A car drove past and Peter realised that he must be quite a sight, a man lying on the side of the road covered in blood. He stood up and considered trying to get a lift, but he knew that if he was driving a car and saw a bloodied man on the side of the road, he would be too scared to stop and then he would feel incredibly worried about the poor guy when he got home. So instead, he walked along the road and eventually came across an old wooden house. He staggered up onto the porch and knocked. A woman answered the door. She looked to be in her early fifties and have greying blonde hair. When she saw Peter she screamed and quickly closed the door again.

"ANNETTE! THERE'S A MAN OUT THERE!" Peter heard her scream. He then heard footsteps approach the door.

"What kind of man?" he heard a younger woman's voice say, presumably Annette.

"DON'T OPEN THE DOOR!" he heard the the older woman yell again, but it was too late, Annette swung open the door to find a man covered in blood standing at her door.

"Hello, I'm Peter," was all Peter could get out before Annette fainted. The older woman came rushing back over and knelt down to look at Annette.

"My daughter doesn't like the sight of blood," the woman explained, "Now! You! Peter or whatever your name is! Get away from here and head to a hospital!" This was all too much for Peter. He fell on his knees, making him yell in pain and began sobbing heavy sobs, the pain making him clench his teeth. He looked at the woman with pleading eyes and her heart went out to him. He could have been a horrible man for all she knew but at that moment he looked like a lost child, so she let him in. She dragged Annette into the house and managed to get her onto a couch. She was surprisingly strong for a middle aged lady. Peter sat down on a wooden chair in the same room Annette was and did his best to swallow the pain and the tears. The lady then turned around, suddenly extremely calm.

"My name is Mildred," she said, "What yours?"

"Peter," he croaked.

"What happened to you?" she asked.

"I don't know," Peter breathed through gritted teeth. Annette started to wake up.

"Well, never mind that now, you are evidently in a lot of pain, so we'll have to deal with that first," Mildred explained. Peter nodded just as Annette sat up, saw him again and she screamed.

"It's alright Annette," Mildred hushed, "This is Peter and we are going to help him out."

Peter smiled at Annette. He didn't want to scare anyone. Annette just remained still, staring at the blood.

"Do you have any idea what is causing you all of this pain?" Mildred asked. Peter shook, his head. "Alright," said Mildred, crouching down in front of him, "Let's have a look," she began to unbutton his bloodied shirt.

"Shouldn't you wear gloves?" Peter asked.

"There's no time for that," she deadpanned as she finished unbuttoning his shirt, "Can you put your arms behind you so I can pull it off?" she asked Peter. He did so, though it made him have to breath in sharply.

"Hurts," he said.

"I know, so stop talking," Mildred told him. She pulled off his shirt. His bare chest was covered in more blood than the shirt was.

"I think it stopped bleeding," Peter explained. He wanted to be as helpful as possible, for he knew he was taking up a lot of Mildred and Annette's time.

Mildred turned around and looked at Annette, who looked very pale and said, "Annette, go get a clean dishcloth and a bowl of salty water." Annette nodded and scampered out of the room, "She hates the sight of blood. Now, tell me when it hurts," Mildred began pressing her hand against Peter's stomach, but that didn't cause any pain, then she pressed her fingers hard against Peter's lower ribs, and he screamed in pain. "Bullseye," Mildred said, humourless.

Annette came back into the room, carrying the dishcloth and salty water.

"Is he okay?" she asked shakily.

Mildred laughed, "You seem more upset than him!" she then looked to Peter, "She could never be a nurse."

"I just don't like seeing other people's blood," Annette breathed.

"I think he know's that dear," Mildred stated.

"So," Peter breathed. "What's wrong with me?"

"I don't know for certain, but I think that your ribs are broken," Mildred answered. Peter paled. "Fortunately they don't seem to have punctured your lungs. You really need a hospital but there is no hospital for miles around, and we don't have a phone."

Peter gulped. None of this sounded very uplifting. "Then where is all of the blood coming from?"

"We shall see." Mildred took the washcloth from Annette and began to clean the blood off him. "Go make us tea Annette, or coffee, for the shock." Annette left hastily. Peter clenched in pain when the cloth passed over his ribs.

"I am being as gentle as possible," Mildred assured him. Peter closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain. After about 15 minutes, Mildred had finished wiping all of the blood off and she cried out.

"What is it?" asked Peter.

"Oh, who would want to hurt a poor boy like you?" she asked.

"What is it?" Peter questioned again.

"The broken ribs and everything has been done by a person."

"I figured as such." Peter explained.

"Someone with medical expertise. They have expertly broken your ribs as not to puncture any organs, as far as I know, and they have carved into the skin of your pectorals deep enough to cause lots of blood, and once it heals, scarring, but not damage anything internally."

One word stood out to Peter, "What do you mean by carved?" he asked, trying to look down at his chest.

"They have carved the initials B.F.M." Mildred explained, Peter saw that Annette was there, looking as pale as ever.

Suddenly, it all made sense to Peter. Well, not all of it, but some. He understood why Mike had said 'you' to Micky when he had asked who he was talking to.

"BabyFace..." Peter uttered.


	4. Chapter 4-Mike! We Lost Peter!

Chapter 4-"Mike! We Lost Peter!"

"Micky, we lost Peter!" Davy gasped, still quiet enough so that the bad vibes would not disturb Mike.

"What do we do? What do we do? We _have_ to find him before Mike wakes up!" Micky tripped over his words, running his hands through his curly hair.

"Er, uh, well, Mike usually wakes up at 6, yeah?" Davy asked, looking out into the sea.

"But Davy, that's only in maybe a little over an hour."

"Thank you Captain Obvious for doing the math for the kids at home watching. We split up. I'll go left, you'll go right, and we report back either with Peter or to confront Mike."

"Davy..." Micky's voice was on the borderline between, 'I hate this plan' and 'I have bad feeling about this.' However, after he received a look from Davy, he reluctantly tried going left, while Davy tried going right, causing a collision on the porch. After mindlessly figuring out who had to go left and who had to go right, they finally went their separate ways in a desperate attempt to find Peter.

"Ppppppeeeeeetttttttteeeeeeerrrrrrrrr!" Davy cried out. He could hear Micky cry out an echo to his own.

Davy was now at the end of the beach where a road cut off the beach from the rest of the land. A couple cars sped by as Davy flopped down onto the sand, letting out one more cry for the missing bassist. Even though he was extremely worried for his friend, and wanted him back dearly, he couldn't help but worry for his own safety when it came for Mike to find out.

Davy looked up to the bright blue sky, letting the morning air chill his skin. He let out a painful cry for Peter. Then, out of nowhere, Micky drove up to Davy from the road on their rarely used dune buggy.

"Hey Davy baby! I know where Peter is! Hop in!" Micky' s smile was none the less goofier than normal.

As Davy climbed in, he sighed, "Thank goodness! But, uh, where is he exactly?"

"Mr. Babbit said he was heading for the other side of town."

"Okay, but why not take the Monkeemobile?"

"Mike hid the keys on me. You ask a lot of questions, don't you?"

"What's that supp-" Davy began, before everything in his brain shut off.

"Like I said, Mike hid the keys." BabyFace deadpanned before hitting the gas on the dune buggy and driving out of site, throwing the rock he used out onto the beach.

Micky wandered aimlessly across the sand towards the beach house. He had no luck finding Peter, and he was hoping that Davy had found him. On his way back home Micky continued to yell Peter's name, by this point not expecting an answer in return. When he got to the foot of the steps that lead homeward, he flopped down onto the sand, exhausted from the recent search.

"Peter! Where are you?" Micky screamed.

"Micky?" A familiar voice called back. Micky's face changed from tired to hopeful within a split second to find the source of the voice. His face changed to a disappointed and frightened one when he found Michael looking down at him from the balcony of the pad. "What are you doing?"

Micky quickly bounced onto his feet, quickly trying to explain, but instead gave Mike random hand gestures accompanied by grunts, 'uh's,' 'well' s,' and 'you see' s.' Mike walked down to the beach. Upon arrival, he slapped Micky across the face, just so he could have a simple answer.

"Peter's missing!" Micky yelped.

Mike's face dropped. "No... No..." He flung his arms on top of his hat and muttered something under his breath. "I... Micky, this is all my fault!"

"Mike," Micky began, but now Mike was pacing frantically, caught up in his thoughts. Micky walked over, grabbed his sleeve, slapping Mike in the face as he had done to him minutes ago.

"Mike! What happened?"

 _ **A Week Prior...**_

Mike parked the Monkeemobile in the bakery parking lot. He hated parallel parking, but that was the only parking available for the music store. On this particular day Mike was in need of some strings for their guitars. Upon entry, the store manager, Wilfred, greeted Mike. Mike smiled warmly, tipping his wool hat to him. Mike wandered over to the guitars and got a little distracted by the instruments that hung on the wall.

Lost in his own dream world, Mike was awaken by a tap on the shoulder. He peered over his shoulder, a little shocked to see Micky standing there. Mike turned around completely and took a step back. Looking the man up and down, he realized it wasn't Micky. Micky didn't own a pinstripe suit, let alone an actual suit that wasn't already ripped, burned, or lost due to science experiments and crazy gigs.

"Sorry, auditions to replace Micky aren't till 'over-my-dead-body' BabyFace. You might as well head back from where you came from." Mike said, returning his attention to the guitars.

Babyface grabbed Mike's shoulder, spinning him around again. "Now you listen to me Nesmith, give me Dolenz, and I won't interfere anymore with your little band."

"Now that's the problem." Mike growled, ripping himself from BabyFace's grasp. "You simply just cannot have him! Micky's a part of who we are. The Monkees are nothing without Micky Dolenz and he knows it! Micky would never leave us! Why do you want him, anyway?"

"Sooner or later they'll realize I'm not in prison. I need someone to take over the deeply annoying burden of sitting in a cement cell while I live free." BabyFace slurred, smiling a wicked smile.

"Well I'm sorry to hear you need a replacement, but Micky's not up for sale. So why don't you just go turn yourself in, or else I'll turn you in."

"We'll see about that." Babyface sneered, shoving Mike. "You have a week Nesmith. After that, everything that happens is on your shoulders," and with that BabyFace bolted out of the music store, leaving Mike alone with Wilfred, who ironically slept through the whole thing.

Mike ran to the nearest police station, trying to figure out how to explain to the police his threat. The policeman at the desk greeted him, and asked what the matter was. Mike attempted to explain the threat to the policeman, but at the end of the story, he shook his head.

"Mr..."

"Nesmith."

"Mr. Nesmith I'm sorry, but BabyFace is a convict in prison. He's in for life."

"Listen to me! He's a master at escaping! You guys _have_ to know that! Well he's obviously escaped and wants my friend dead or alive!"

"Mr. Nishwash,"

"Nesmith."

"Mr. Nesmith, here, if it makes you feel better, I will call the state prison and confirm that BabyFace Morales is in custody." The policeman dialed the phone and proceeded to have an almost flirtatious conversation with the person on the other end. Mike leaned back in disgust. Is this what our law enforcement has become? After several minutes the policeman hung up. "Well sir, you're in luck. BabyFace Morales isn't even in the state. He's been shipped off to Utah."

Mike shook his head and bolted out the door. So again, it seems, as usual, the Monkees will have to fight this battle themselves.

Mike and Micky sat criss-cross on the sandy beach. Mike took off his hat and was fiddling with it in his hands. Micky had resorted to being hit by the news rather harshly, for he had a difficult time talking.

Mike shook his head. "I'm sorry Micky. I should have told you guys. Now because of me poor Peter is gone, probably scared, alone, or-"

"Don't even." Micky stopped him, shoving his hand into the guitarist's mouth. "You did what you had to Mike. To keep us safe for a while longer. And Mike..."

"What?"

"Davy and I searched the beach this morning to look for Peter. We agreed to meet back here at 6."

"Okay?"

"It's nearly 8, Mike." Mike stared at Micky as the realization hit him. He shook his head. He cursed under his breath. "So what do we do now Mike?" Micky asked. Mike looked into the drummer's eyes, taking in the fear they swam in.

"I think we start searching for clues."


	5. Chapter 5- You Know My Name

Chapter 5- You Know My Name

Micky walked down the beach in the direction Davy had once gone while Mike headed back up to the pad to look for clues to find the location of Peter. Micky was tired and wished he could just fall down and sleep through the whole problem, except he couldn't. He was waist-deep in the problem now, just because he looked like BabyFace Morales. He kicked a stone, upset with himself and BabyFace. Micky looked down at his white tennis shoes, noticing spots of blood on them. Confused, he took off his left shoe and observed the blood stains. He looked down at his sock, which was clean of the crimson menace. He then let his attention wander to the rock he just kicked. The rock seemed as though it had been dipped in blood. After a moment, his eyes widened. The blood could have been Peter's... or even Davy's!

"Mmmiiike!" Micky cried, waving the rock in the air as he raced back towards the pad.

Mike had just entered the pad when the phone rang. He picked it up casually, giving a monotone greeting. "M-mike?" A familiar British accent asked on the other end. It sounded painful and it hurt Mike to listen.

"Davy?"

"Mike, please," Davy said. "You need to find Peter. He's not here! You need-"

Davy was cut off by BabyFace. "Hello Michael."

"What have you done with Davy and Peter?" Mike asked, his Texan accent thickening.

"We're keeping David with us as a ransom. Peter, on the other hand, let's just say keep heading north and you'll find him eventually. Now Michael, about Mister Dolenz..."

"I have a question for you!" Mike interrupted. "You've taken Peter and you've taken Davy, but why didn't you just take Micky first? Besides, what did Davy ever do to you? The one time we met you, Davy wasn't even in the country!"

"I enjoy seeing my enemies suffer." BabyFace deadpanned. "It would be too easy to kill Micky and leave it at that."

"Kill Micky?" Mike interrupted. He could hear the Englishman mimic the surprise and concerning remark in the background. He could also hear Davy's pleas to not harm Micky.

"Shut him up." BabyFace ordered, before returning to Mike.

"I swear to God, BabyFace, if you hurt him anymore than you have I will gut you like a Texas Prairie Chicken."

BabyFace laughed. "Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? A prairie chicken?" BabyFace chuckled again before continuing, "Michael, I won't hurt him if you bring me Dolenz. Bring me Dolenz, and I will give you the coordinates to the exact point we left Peter, and we will return Davy as well. What do you say Nesmith?"

"Where are you?" Mike asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

"1211 Oswald St. It's an old building. Used to be a brewery."

At this, Michael hung up. "Mike?" Micky asked from the bandstand. Mike turned around to make eye contact with the drummer. Micky noted how old Mike looked at that moment."BabyFace?"

Mike nodded. He looked as though he was ready to break down and cry. "Babyface has Davy, and he dropped Peter off who knows where. He said if I give you up, then he gives me Davy and tells me where Peter is." Micky looked down at the bloody rock in his hands, which were now stained with most likely Davy's blood.

"Then it's simple. I go to BabyFace, you get Davy & Peter, and then save me."

"No Mick, you don't understand, BabyFace doesn't want there to be two of him, if you catch my drift."

"Oh." Micky's face dropped. "Then what do we do?"

"I don't know yet, but the more we sit and think, the more danger we put David and Peter in." Micky's eyes widened at the comment. Mike never referred to Davy by his first name. Ever. This was the sign that Mike was truly insecure about what he was about to face.

Micky watched as Mike stared at the floor, thinking. Micky held the bloody rock in his hands, somehow not able to let go. Suddenly, Micky saw the keys to the MonkeeMobile appear on the rock. Looking up, he saw Mike walking towards the bathroom.

"Mike!"

"Go find Peter. BabyFace said to keep heading north. Don't come home till ya' do." Mike replied, not looking back. The door to the bathroom slammed shut, and Micky could hear the shower being turned on.

Micky walked over to the bathroom door, desperate to find out what Mike was thinking about doing. "Mike? What are you planning?" No response. "Mike? Come on Mike, spill the beans."

"Go find Peter. That's priority number one." Mike's thick Texan drawl responded through the wooden door.

"What about Davy?"

"I'll handle saving Davy. You need to get as far away from here as possible and find Peter."

"But we don't know where he is!"

"Like I said, head north. Now go before I have to force you out. Don't come back till Peter's safe." Mike ordered.

"Okay, bye Mike." Micky sighed. Mike's accent had almost conquered his normal Californian/Texan cross, so Micky thought it best to obey. Micky walked out to the garage, with both the rock and the keys. He threw the rock into the passenger seat and started the car. With a heavy sigh, he backed out of the garage and started heading north, the radio on full blast in order to ease Micky's worries.

The bell rang at Jessica's Prosthetic, causing the owner's daughter, Jessica, to be spooked by the obvious entrance of a customer during the lunch rush. The man who entered was a tall, thin man, who styled rich black hair and the most gorgeous sideburns she had ever seen. He wore a fedora and a pinstripe suit. She giggled, for he looked a bit like a gangster.

"Hello. I'm Jessica. How can I help you?" she giggled.

"Uh, I was wondering if you could, by chance, make me look like this man, with some makeup of course." the man said shyly. She fell for the man's Texan drawl.

"Sure. Come on back." Jessica lead the Texan to the back room, where all her movie make-up was. "So, why this man in particular?"

"I'm trying to save my friends


	6. Chapter 6- It Happens a Lot

Chapter 6- It Happens a Lot

"Who's Baby-Face?" asked Annette, handing Peter a cup of coffee.

Peter opened his mouth to speak but Mildred stopped him. "Your ribs are broken Peter. What you need is to drink that coffee and rest."

"And have a shower, you're covered in blood and stink of sweat," Annette added 'helpfully.'

"ANNETTE! Really?" Mildred scolded.

Peter just laughed despite how much it hurt. "It's okay, I probably do smell."

"What did I say about not talking young man?" Mildred scolded yet again. "Now you sit there, drink that coffee and don't tell us anything until I say you are ready. Now, I'll go and attempt to save this shirt, and you Annette, will sit on the couch and make sure he doesn't move at all."

And this is exactly what happened, Mildred went to clean Peter's shirt, Peter drank his coffee and Annette sat and stared at him.

Once Mildred was out of earshot, Peter spoke up. "Is she always so motherly to strangers who stagger into her house covered in sweat, blood and tears?"

Peter had hoped that Annette would laugh at that, but she still seemed to be in shock over the whole thing. "She was a nurse in World War Two," Annette then picked up her coffee and started drinking it before asking, "Do you feel better?"

Peter moved his shoulders just enough to look like a shrug. He didn't feel better. His ribs were screaming, the cuts in his chest were stinging, and the coffee tasted stale, but that wasn't what was worrying him most. He was most worried about his friends. Why had BabyFace not killed him? What did he want? "Yeah, a bit better," he lied.

A few hours went by, during which Mildred decided that the best place for Peter's shirt was the trash. Annette made tea and Peter was forced to lie down in the spare room and rest. Just after lunchtime, Peter emerged from his room and informed Mildred and Annette that he was no longer going to lie there helpless, because he needed to find his friends. Mildred tried to usher him back into the spare room, but Peter insisted, so everyone ended up back in the living room drinking tea again.

"So, first things first, Peter," Annette sighed, "Who is BabyFace?"

Peter breathed in and explained all that had happened last time the Monkees came across BabyFace, about Micky impersonating him, about him escaping from prison, and everything else. Mildred and Annette were shocked.

"So," Mildred quivered, "Does this sort of thing happen to you and your friends a lot?"

"Oh no!" said Peter.

Mildred and Annette starred.

"Sometimes?" he offered.

The two of them continued staring.

"Okay!" Peter caved, "A lot."

Suddenly, Annette was in action, "So, we must return you to your friends!"

"Well, at least tell them where I am. And ask them how they are..."

"But first, you need a new shirt," Mildred threw in, standing up, "You can't wander around like that, you know."

Peter nodded and Mildred departed, soon returning with a thin, white button-up shirt that looked a tad too big for Peter, but it was something. He put it on and the three of them began planning what to do next.


	7. Chapter 7- Help! I Need Somebody

Chapter 7- Help! I Need Somebody

"I can go over to Barbie's and call." Annette offered. After much talk and no do, Peter learned a lot about this couple living in the middle of who knows where. Mildred was a retired war nurse who stayed home everyday and took care of the house. Annette was the money maker, who drove nearly fifty miles everyday to the city of Los Banos to work as a waitress at a restaurant. They didn't own a phone because Annette's paycheck couldn't cover it without cutting into one of their necessities. The house and their car, an old, rusting truck, used to belong to Mildred's late husband, and they inherited it when he passed away a couple years back.

Barbie was an old childhood friend of Annette's who lived almost halfway between Los Banos and their house. Mildred was reluctant and said it would save everyone gas and time if they just drove him to the hospital themselves and contacted Peter's friends at a payphone. However, Annette pointed out that if they called an ambulance, Peter would get the medical attention he needed quicker. Eventually, to Peter's dissatisfaction, they left the decision up to him.

"Well, I, uh… I don't know how much pain a car ride will cause." Peter admitted shyly, running a hand through his long hair.

"Ha! See Ma? He needs an ambulance!" Annette said.

"Fine, darling. Go over to Barb's and call. Here's the number for Peter's house as well. Make sure he friends know what's going on."

"Yes Ma." Annette said, taking the small piece of paper Peter wrote his house number on. "I'll be back with help!" She declared, running out the door.

Annette jumped into the truck and began to drive towards Barbie's. As she began to drive, she glanced down at the piece of paper she carelessly tossed onto the passenger's seat. It had a number on it, and the words, 'Peter's House ask for Mike, Micky, or Davy,' were printed in black ink. She ran the names through her head and tried to imagine the three men in her head.

She couldn't imagine a face for any of them, but by their names Annette imagined their personas. Annette thought of Mike as strong, masculine figure, with possibly a short temper. She thought of Micky and as nerd. Thin, weak, and totally unable to fend for himself. Annette saw Davy as a child who probably was no more than fifteen. He was a young, healthy kid, in her mind, but that's all she could see of him.

Davy's head hurt so much. He was positive that he had a concussion, as well as multiple bruises on his arms from being picked up so much by BabyFace's gang members. However, everything just hurt. They had been punching, smacking, and even cutting him since he arrived, and all he wanted was for everything to be over. Davy wanted to go home, crawl back in bed, and sleep till everything was okay.

The noise of the giant metal door opening struck Davy's attention. "What do you want now?" Davy demanded, trying to play brave.

Through the open door stood BabyFace, a small smile on his too familiar face. It made Davy want to throw up. The door shut behind him, and he advanced towards the Englishman, completely silent. Terrified, Davy struggled in his binds to somehow escape, even though it would do him no good. Before he knew it, BabyFace was inches from his face, that sneer still on his face. "Good afternoon David." He sneered.

Suddenly, the metal door swung open again, and the voice of Tony called out, "Hey BabyFace, guess who just showed up?" BabyFace quickly stood, spinning around to see Micky Dolenz standing there with Tony grabbing onto the back of his similar gangster jacket. Tony laughed. "He tried sayin' he was you, but I knew he wasn't. You were wearin' a different suit."

"Micky, no!" Davy yelled. BabyFace turned around and smacked the boy, telling him to be quiet.

Tony shoved Micky into the middle of the room, closing the door. BabyFace strolled up to him, his evil smile even wider than before. On his advancement, he pulled out a gun. Micky looked up from the floor, surprised to see the gun so quickly. BabyFace kneeled down so that he was eye level with his double. "Hello Micky." No response was given, only a heated glare. "I'm surprised Mike let you come. A shame, really. Did he tell you I was going to kill you?" Micky shook his head. "Pity, but anyway, here's the gun that's going to kill you." BabyFace held the gun at eye level.

"D-davy." Micky grumbled, clearing his throat.

"What's wrong with your voice, Dolenz?" BabyFace asked aggressively.

"Sore." Micky responded. "Mike… said… let… Davy… go." He said this slowly and carefully.

"Ah yes." BabyFace sighed, standing. "Tony, knock 'em out and toss him outside."

"WHAT?" Davy yelled from his chair. A large 'thunk' was heard, then there was the sound of wood rubbing against tile as the chair with Davy in it was dragged away. Micky only cringed at the sound. The next thing he heard was the sound of BabyFace loading the gun.

"It should only take one bullet, don't you think?" BabyFace asked, aiming the gun. The Monkee stared wide-eyed at the gun, trying to decide his next move.

To the gangster's surprise, a sly smile appeared on his double's face. "Naw man, I don't think so." The Monkee said in a completely different voice. A sudden rush of pain flowed through the gangster as he fell to his knees, clutching the parts that made him the man he was. With the time he had, the Monkee grabbed the gun from his grasp, shooting the bullet into BabyFace's shoulder. A scream filled the room, and Michael quickly made his move, switching jackets and fedoras with the bleeding gangster.

"N-esmith is gonna pay..." BabyFace growled before being knocked unconscious by the nearest blunt object Mike could get his hands on.

The sound of men running was now audible to Mike through the giant metal door. Cursing under his breath, he smeared some blood onto BabyFace's head and tossed the jacket he was wearing to the side. Tony and a couple other gangsters burst into the room.

"BabyFace!" Tony yelled. "What happened?" Michael turned to them, then pointed to the unconscious man on the floor. "D-did you kill him BabyFace?" Mike nodded and walked over to push them all out of the room. "Great job BabyFace! By the way, we took care of the kid for you." Mike stopped and cocked an eyebrow. "We left 'em out in the pond out back." Trying to hide his panic, he nodded, and finished pushing the men out of the room. When the gangsters were gone, Mike scanned the room for a phone. None. With a curse he quickly tied up BabyFace and ran out of the room. Once out, he put on a casual gangster walk and found the nearest phone in an office three doors down. He called the police, and once they confirmed they were on their way to arrest BabyFace and his gang, Mike made his way outside to find Davy. He knew the police would take care of them for the most part. The only thing he was concerned about now was finding Davy and making sure he was alive.

The pad was utterly silent. There was no movement, no disturbance, nothing. It was well into the day now, almost night. It would have been expected that at any moment four young, happy men would wander into the house, ready for a good night's rest. However, not even that happened. The only thing that happened was one singular moment when their red rotary phone rang from inside the chess table. After a couple minutes of no one bothering to answer, it stopped. Silence returned to the sad pad, awaiting the arrival of its occupants.


	8. Chapter 8- Driving Away

Chapter 8- Driving Away

Crawling out of the abandoned brewery, Mike began to frantically rip the prosthetics from his face. He ran towards the back of the building to find a greenish-yellow pond, home to a few empty barrels and trash. Amongst the trash, a body floated aimlessly towards the center. In a rush of panic, Mike dove into the toxic liquid, quickly grabbing the body and pulling it out to safety.

Flipping the body over on the sandy ground, Mike confirmed it was Davy. Mike took a moment to assess the damage done, then put his ear to Davy's mouth to determine if he was breathing. No such luck. Mike quickly began to perform CPR. After a minute the young boy coughed, water gurgling from his mouth. Mike sat Davy upright, letting all of the water fall into his lap. After the water left his system, Davy looked up at his savior, a look of utter confusion on his face. "Mike? W-what's on your face?"

"Makeup." Mike said simply. "Come on, think you can stand? I don't particularly want to be around when the police get here."

"Police?" Davy asked, accepting Mike's help to stand. "What's going on?"

"I'll explain in the car, let's go."

"Wait! What about Micky?" Davy asked. "He, he, he, was in there," Davy pointed at the brewery. "With BabyFace!"

"Naw man, that was me. That's what the makeup's for. Come on, no time for chit-chat, we need to go." Mike said, taking Davy as quick as he could to the car, which was parked a block down from the brewery. When they reached the car, they could hear the sound of sirens in the distance.

"Did you call the police?" Davy asked as Mike pushed him into the car. "And who's car is this?"

"Yeah, I called the police." Mike answered, running to the driver's seat. "And it's Ms. Purdy's. She's letting me borrow it."

"Oh. Well, aren't you going to stay?" Davy huffed, still winded. "Confess against BabyFace?"

Mike started the car. "Look Tiny, if we stayed, I would have had to left the disguise on, and they might have mistaken me for BabyFace, and we both know he would have used that to his advantage. I don't need him knownin' Micky's not here." Mike began to drive away, the police cars appearing in his rearview mirror.

"Micky's not here? Where is he?"

"God knows. I sent him to find Peter."

"Where's Peter?"

"I don't know, that's why Micky's going out to find him. BabyFace said he dropped him off somewhere up north, so that's the direction I sent Micky."

"What if he's lying?"

"We'll find out if he is if Micky doesn't find him, now won't we?" Honestly, Mike had not really considered BabyFace lying on that front, he was too concerned for his friends' well-being to think that thoroughly. "Right now we need to get you to a hospital." Mike said, deciding that if he needed to explain Davy's condition, he can simply say they were jumped and Davy couldn't get a grip to defend himself.

"No."

"No?"

"We need to find Micky and Peter."

"I know. I was going to get you a doctor then go looking for them."

"Well I'm going with you."

"No, Davy. I-"

"No, Mike. I'm going with you. I can manage. Just go pick up a first aid kit or something from the store. We'll assess what damage is done and I can get better sitting here right next to you in this car. I don't need a doctor."

Mike grunted. "Now Davy-"

"Mike, I'm not going to a hospital."

Rolling his eyes, Mike gave in. "Fine, but if you can't take it anymore, I'm taking you to the closest hospital, got it?"

"Yes, Mike."

 _ **Three Days Later**_

"Good afternoon sir, my name is Annette and I'll be your waitress this afternoon. Can I get you anything to drink?" The spunky waitress asked Micky. Micky was sitting in a booth at a small diner, his eyes weighed with the lack of sleep and the tons of stress he possessed.

"Er, just water. Thanks." Micky mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Got it." She smiled, walking off, leaving Micky alone with the menu and his thoughts. Glancing down at the menu, he had already decided he was just going to have some fries. It was the cheapest thing on the menu, and the cash he had on him was diminishing quickly. However, it's not like he had a lot to begin with.

The waitress came back, handing him his water. "Are you ready to order sir?"

"Er, uh, yeah. Just a small plate of fries is fine."

The waitress frowned. She bent over and whispered. "You alright, sir?" Micky shook his head. He was tired, he was worried, his brain was sick of driving, he just needed all of this to be over. "Well, how about I buy you something? You look like you need more than just fries in your stomach."

"Alright." Micky said, glancing down at the menu. "A burger then is fine."

"Alrighty. I'll be back with your food." Annette smiled and began to walk away.

"Hey miss?"

"Yes?"

"Right," Micky said, "This may sound crazy, but, uh, I'm looking for someone, and I was wondering if you could help me out."

"What's his name, sir?" Annette asked.

"Peter Tork."

Trying to conceal a smile, Annette replied. "Let me go put in your order. What's your name?"

"Micky Dolenz."

"Right. I'll be back, Micky." Annette said with a smile before running off towards the kitchen. "Yo, Donnie, I need two hamburger meals and after that I'm goin' on my lunch break."

"Whatever you say, Annette." A low, gruff voice asked from the back. As the food cook, Annette quickly took care of the rest of her tables, letting her co-workers along the way know she was going on break. She returned to the kitchen for her food and took it to the table where Micky sat, surprising him by sitting down across from him.

"Hi." She smiled. "So Peter Tork then? Oh, and don't worry about the bill. I've already paid for your meal. Free of charge."

"Oh, well uh, thanks." Micky gave her a sheepish smile. "Anyway, yeah, Peter Tork's a friend of mine. He went missing a couple days back and I'm looking for him."

"He's at the Los Banos Memorial Hospital, if you're wondering." Annette said, taking a big bite out of her burger.

"He's where?"

"The local hospital. You see, he turned up on my doorstep one day. He was in one hell of a state, too. I couldn't stand being in the same room till my ma cleaned up all the-" Noticing the color draining from Micky's face, Annette decided to stop. "Sorry."

"No, no, it's alright. I just… I didn't think…" Micky muttered, looking down at his food.

"If it makes you feel better, I've been trying to reach you and your friends since we got Peter help. No one's picking up the phone. It's just your luck to run across me."

Micky's eyes widened. "Oh no, Mike and Davy!"

"What?"

"You said no one's been picking up?"

"Yeah."

"Oh no… I think I'm gonna be sick." Micky grumbled, clutching his stomach.

"Here." Annette said, helping Micky out of the booth and towards the bathrooms. Almost pushing the man into the men's room, Annette flinched at the sound of Micky throwing up, hopefully into a trash can or a toilet. After a couple minutes, Micky reemerged from the bathroom, looking miserable.

"Sorry." He said sheepishly. "I guess the stress has really gotten to me."

"Here, let's go back to the table and talk about something that won't make you throw up."

"Deal."

The two walked back to the booth, where as they ate, Annette filled Micky in on her life with her mother, seeing as that everything else they had in common would result in Micky losing it. After finishing their meal, Annette took the dishes back to the kitchen, returning with the receipt. Handing it to Micky, she said. "On the back are directions to the hospital."

"As well as your number?" Micky asked, flipping it over to see the number on the back as well.

"Well, I kind of wanted you to call to let me know how Peter's doing. I stopped by this morning, but couldn't stay very long since I had to go to work."

"Oh. Yeah, I can do that." Micky said. "Thank you so much. You're a lifesaver."

"I know. Have a good day, Micky."

"You too, Annette. I'll talk to you later."

"Bye." Annette blushed, walking off to continue working. Micky walked out of the restaurant, a feeling of excitement welling up in his stomach. He was going to find Peter.


	9. Chapter 9- Finding Words

Chapter 9- Finding Words

Peter Tork sat alone in the hospital room. The last few days had been a blur for him. Last thing he clearly remembered was Annette leaving the house to go get an ambulance. Since then everything happened so quickly he couldn't keep tabs on everything. Now he was in the hospital, alone with his thoughts. Nurses would come in and check on him, as would his doctor. Mildred visited once when she and Annette came into town to pick up groceries, but he hasn't seen them since.

He was told that they took him into surgery once he arrived and they put his ribs back into place. It would take a few weeks to heal, however. For Peter, the healing process couldn't be slower. He was told he has only been there for two days now, but it's felt more like an eternity. Peter found it unhealthy for them to leave him alone with his thoughts. All he could think about was his friends and the possible danger they could be in. He hated being left in the dark. Could they be dead? Did they know where he was? Annette told him that she couldn't get ahold of them, as well as the nurses who tried, and with each passing moment Peter feared that the life he once lead had died at the hands of BabyFace Morales.

There was a knock at the door. When Peter said it was okay, it opened to reveal a small, blonde nurse. "Mr. Tork, you have a visitor. Are you up to it?"

Assuming that it was Annette and Mildred, Peter replied. "Yeah, let them in." The nurse nodded and disappeared. She came back, opening the door farther, revealing a man standing in the doorway. Peter cocked an eyebrow. He did recognize this man before. 

"Hello Mr. Tork." The man said coolly. "My name is Dr. Richie Osmond." By this point the nurse had left, leaving him and Peter alone. "I see you're being treated for my handiwork."

"Your handiwork?" Peter asked, looking down at his covered abdomen, picturing the injuries underneath. "You did this to me?"

"Of course. Do you really believe that BabyFace has the talent to perform such an operation?" Richie laughed before continuing. "I got three-hundred for that."

"Why are you here?" Peter asked nervously.

"To see how you were holding up. I always check in with my, er, patients before moving on to a new city. I'm not a bad man, Peter. I just wanted to earn an easy buck." Richie smiled, as if trying to wipe away the evil he was stating. "I'm an ex-war doctor, you see, and in this world, you've got to do what you've got to do to earn a living. My patients usually check out all right in the end, but don't tell Morales that." Richie chuckled.

"That's not right." Peter pouted.

"That's life, kid."

"I don't care. That's not right. Thanks to you, my whole life could be ruined."

"Now you're being over dramatic, kid."

"No, I'm not." Peter stated firmly. "Because you did this to me, my roommates are in a fit to find me, and if you're in league with BabyFace, he could have all three of them killed by now. Thanks to him I may never be able to return to the life I once lived, and I loved my life. It's people like you that make life miserable."

"Life's supposed to me miserable, kid. I've spent ten years of my life cutting people open and leaving them for dead."

"Why?"

Richie laughed. "Money is everything, kid. You need it to survive in this cruel world. What's going to pay for your bill, huh? Certainly not charity." Richie sighed, taking a deep breath. "Once I got out of the war, no hospital would hire me. They all thought I was not fit with all the gore I saw. I can't possibly imagine myself living any other way, so I joined the gang scene. I'll work for whoever hires me."

"That's still not right. Hurting people for a living, that's not right."

"I assume you're some sort of hippie." Richie stated almost coldly.

"I am whatever you think I am." Peter said just as coldly. "But the point is that hurting people for money isn't worth it. Life is more than just earning money to survive. In life, there are friends, music, art, beauty, energy, comfort, roughness, so many different qualities that you can't find sitting in one path. You need to explore the different parts of life, and you need to let other people enjoy it too. Hurting people changes the lives of not just the victim, but all of their friends and families. Not only do you hurt them physically, but emotionally as well.

Richie Osmond stood in silence, considering Peter's words. Before he could say another word, there was a knock on the door. "Mr. Tork?"

"Yes?"

"You have another visitor."

Peter looked up at Richie, but before he could say anything, Richie waved him off. "Talk to you later, kid." He shook his head and walked out of the room. The nurse gave him a quizzical look before turning her attention back to Peter. "Are you alright for another visitor?"

"Yes."

The nurse backed away, and the doorway was empty for a moment, before another figure walked into view. Peter felt his heart leap up into his throat. "M-Micky?" Peter stuttered, staring at the man.

"Peter!" Micky smiled, running into the room and engulfing him in a hug.

"Micky!" Peter gasped, taken aback by the hug. "Micky, is it really you?"

"Of course, man! Who else would it be?" Micky sat down on the bed and looked at Peter. They both knew the answer to that question and quickly sobered up.

"Where's Mike and Davy?" Peter asked, their nerves subsiding.

Micky frowned. "I- I don't know, really. No one's picking up at home." Peter knew the look on Micky's face replicated the fears he was having all day. He didn't know if Davy and Mike were hurt, or even alive. "Mike sent me to find you. BabyFace… He took Davy. Mike said he was going to save Davy while I found you."

"What does he want with us?" Peter asked, assuming Micky didn't know the answer.

"He wants me dead." Micky said simply.

"Why does he want you dead? What have you ever done to him? Besides put him in prison, that is."

"The way Mike described it, it sounds like BabyFace just doesn't want any look-alikes around." Micky said.

"Oh…" Peter said, contemplating this new information. "What does that have to do with us, then? Davy, Mike, and I, I mean."

Micky shrugged. "You're my friends. He used you as bait. Send Mike off on a wild goose chase to find you while I turn myself in to save Davy. Boy, I hope they're okay…" Micky sighed, looking down at his hands, unable to give Peter more information.

Peter noticed this and placed a hand on Micky's shoulder. "They're going to be okay, Mick. We're the Monkees, we always get out of fixes like this."

Micky looked up to see the soft smile Peter was known for. He returned the smile and said. "I'm not going to leave you here alone, Pete. I'll just keep trying to get ahold of Mike, and when you feel better, we'll go home."

"I like that plan." Peter said.

"I do too."

Richie Osmond stepped out into the cool, crisp January air. A shiver ran down his spine as he walked over to his car. He couldn't get that kid's words out of his head. _Hurting people for money isn't worth it. Life is more than just earning money to survive._ Was there really something to these words?

There was a man leaning against his car. A surge of anger filled up inside Richie. No one dared touch his car. He began to walk faster towards the man, but once he realized it was one of BabyFace Morales's henchmen, he slowed down. "What do you want?" He ordered.

"The boss needs you for another job." The thug said simply, getting off the car. "He's willing to pay six-hundred for the pair of them."

Richie considered the offer next to Peter's words. Was it worth it? Doing it one more time can't be that bad. Once he gets out of Los Banos he can start anew. "Alright. Same place?"

"Yeah. He needs to capture the rats first, though. We want to keep you close by." The thug said, clearing his throat.

"Fair enough. I'll follow you." Richie said, getting into his car. _One last time, Rich. It's for six-hundred dollars, anyhow._


	10. Chapter 10-One, Two, Three, Four

Chapter 10- One, Two, Three, Four

 _ **Three Days Later**_

Every village, town, or city he passed, Mike checked the hospitals, police stations, and the local hotels to see if they had encountered a Micky Dolenz or Peter Tork. Mike, tired from the constant failure, drove into Los Banos, California. The city was bustling with life for a Saturday morning. Mike drove slowly through the streets, studying the faces of every person he saw. Every now and then he'd look over at the sleeping Monkee in the passenger seat, then continue his search for other missing Monkees. He heard his stomach growl.

"Well, if Micky's going to be anywhere, he'll probably be somewhere where there's food." Mike said to himself, finding a nice little diner to eat at. He parked the car and shut it off. He shook the little Englishman. "Mornin' Davy. Rise and shine, breakfast time." However, he didn't stir. "Davy?" Mike shook him again. He got no response from his bandmate. "Davy!" Mike said a little too loudly. Quickly Mike turned the car back on and frantically drove out of the parking lot in search of a hospital. ' _No, Davy, no.'_ Mike thought to himself. ' _Not now. This can't be happening. I should have forced you to go to the hospital in the first place.'_ "Stay with me, Tiny." Mike said out loud. "I'm getting you help whether you like it or not."

Driving up to the small little diner that he met her at, Micky dropped Annette off. Ever since they met and their mutual concern for Peter grew, Annette and Mildred opened their home up to Micky while Peter healed. Ever since Micky was reassured that Peter was okay, he did everything he could to make it up to the girls. He drove Annette to and from work. While she worked he would visit Peter, or if Mildred came along, he would drive Mildred around to do her errands, as well as stop and visit Peter. It hurt Micky to know that he still couldn't get ahold of Mike, and it hurt him to think of what could have happened. The girls knew not to talk about it, but that didn't change the fact that if he wasn't talking to someone, Micky was thinking about them.

Micky pulled out of the parking lot and out towards the hospital. Up ahead he could see a small, burgundy car speeding through the streets. "What's his problem?" Micky mumbled to himself, watching the car swerve and pass loads of angry drivers. It quickly disappeared from sight as quickly as it disappeared from Micky's mind.

He parked the flashy MonkeeMobile in the parking lot of the hospital and quickly got out. Soon he found himself in the waiting room of the hospital, asking to see Peter. The nurse told him to wait a moment so she could go check on him. Sighing, Micky watched her leave.

"Gah!" Someone yelled. Their cry was followed by the sound of a utensil and a clipboard hitting the floor. Naturally, Micky looked. 

A tall, lanky man sat curled up in a chair, his hands over his head and face buried in his knees. Suddenly he uncurled and began pacing, running his hands through his black hair. Micky looked at the man in confusion. His confusion was cleared when the man picked up a green wool hat from the floor and threw it at the wall.

"Mike?" Micky asked, taking a step forward. The man stopped his rant and looked at Micky.

"Micky?" Mike asked, all of his anger quickly disappearing.

"Mike!" Micky smiled, running up to him. "You're alive!"

"Of course I'm alive." Mike said with a chuckle. "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting Peter, what are you doing here?"

"Peter's here?"

"Yeah. Why'd you get so upset?"

Mike frowned and looked at the floor where he threw the pencil and clipboard. "My pencil broke."

"Your pencil broke?" Micky asked with a grin plastered on his face.

"Davy wanted to help find you. I…" Mike didn't look at Micky, rather he stared at the unfinished paperwork. "He's not doing too well. BabyFace beat him up pretty bad. He said he didn't want a doctor, so he came with me to find you. This morning he wouldn't… he wouldn't wake up, so I brought him here as quickly as I could."

"How'd you even get here? I have the MonkeeMobile."

"I borrowed Mrs. Purdy's car."

"So that was you driving like a madman down the road?" Micky laughed. "I wish I would have known."

Mike cracked a small smile. "Thanks for noticing my handiwork."

"Mr. Dolenz?" A nurse asked.

"Right here." Micky said, turning towards her.

"Mr. Tork is ready to see you now."

Micky looked at Mike, who shook his head. "I have to fill out the rest of Davy's paperwork. Just let him know that I'm here and so is Davy. We're all here."

Micky smiled and walked over to the nurse. "Hey…" He glimpsed at her nametag. "Valleri? That guy over there is a good friend of mine and Peter's… Well, he's actually one of our roommates. He just brought in our other roommate today, so could you try and put David Jones's room as close to Peter Tork's as possible?"

"I can certainly try. What's the patient's name again?"

"David Thomas Jones. The man over there is Mike Nesmith. Peter will want to see him, too. Is it alright if I take him back with me?" The nurse scribbled this information down.

"I don't see why not. Thanks for letting me know. Follow me." She said, leading Micky to Peter's room as it was routine.

She opened the door to the room and let Micky in. He couldn't help but smile when Peter's face brightened at the sight of him. He walked in with a spring in his step. "Hey Pete!"

"Hi Micky, how are the girls doing?"

"Same old, same old. How are you holding up?"

"Getting better."

Micky paused for a moment, trying to figure out the right words. Peter noticed Micky's sudden concentration and happy demeanor. "Everything alright, Micky?"

"More than." Micky laughed. "I've got a surprise for you, but I don't know if it's ready yet." Micky thought for a moment, his excitement getting the better of him. "I'll be right back." Micky jumped up and ran out of the room.

"Micky!" Peter yelled, but he was too late. The drummer was gone.

"Mike, Mike, Mike!" Micky yelled running through the halls. He skidded to a halt when he got to the waiting room, running into Mike. His clipboard and pencil fell to the floor again.

"Micky!" Mike yelled, but then suddenly sobered, picking up the pencil and clipboard. "Give me one minute, will you? I'm almost done." Mike quickly finished filling out Davy's paperwork. With Micky, he walked over to the nurse's desk and handed the paperwork over. "Here. That's as much as I can fill out."

"This is Mike Nesmith." Micky intervened. "He'll be with me in Mr. Tork's room."

"I'll let the doctor know, Mr. Dolenz."

"Thanks. Come on, Mike." Micky said, grabbing Mike's arm and pulling him into the hospital wing. When they reach his room, Micky stopped. "Here we are, Mike." Micky was beaming. Mike couldn't help but smile as well. "Peter!" Micky yelled, throwing the doors open. "Look what I found you!"

Micky and Mike stepped into the room. Mike couldn't help but laugh when he saw Peter's face light up. "Mike!"

"Hey good buddy, how you feeling?" He replied as casually as he could.

Peter, with a smile plastered on his face, answered, "Eh. Could be better. How'd you get here? Micky says he has the MonkeeMobile." 

"Mrs. Purdy let me borrow her car." Mike explained again. "Davy's not feelin' too good, though." Mike's smile faded. "BabyFace hurt him, but he insisted on finding you first, shotgun. I guess it was a good thing he came along or else I might have never come here."

"What happened to him?" Micky asked, taking a seat in a nearby chair.

"Not quite sure. I got there and he was tied up and looked pretty purple. When I asked to let him go they knocked him over the head and dragged him away and threw him into some gross pond."

"Wait, you asked them to let him go?" Micky asked.

"And they did?" Peter added.

Mike rubbed the back of his neck. "Well… _I_ didn't tell them… Micky did."

"Mike, what did you do?" Micky asked cautiously.

"I dressed up as you so they'd let me have Davy." Mike admitted. "I went to that prosthetics store downtown so that I'd look the part. I admit, I fooled them pretty well, even Davy."

"But that place isn't cheap." Peter pointed out. "How'd you pay for it?"

Mike really hoped Peter wasn't going to bring that up. He frowned, looking down at his lap.

 _ **Seven Days Ago**_

" _How's that, Mr. Nesmith?" Jessica asked, turning Mike's chair towards the mirror._

" _I'll admit," Mike said. "I never thought I'd look like Micky." Mike looked up at the young lady. "So, how much is this, then?"_

" _Fifty dollars." Jessica replied, cleaning up her work area._

" _Fifty dollars?" Mike exclaimed. "I- I don't have that kind of money!"_

" _You don't have fifty dollars?" Jessica asked, somewhat flabbergasted. "What do you have?"_

 _Mike quickly pulled out his wallet, frowning when he saw nothing was in there. "Nothing." Suddenly, an idea came to him. He didn't like the idea, and knew he'd feel guilty about it later, but it was worth a shot. "Maybe I can give you something else. A record, maybe?"_

" _A record?" He knew he had caught Jessica's interest. "By who?"_

" _Come with me." Mike said, waving her to follow. They walked out of the shop and towards Ms. Purdy's car. Opening the driver's door, Mike reached in and grabbed the new album he had only received the day before. "It's by the Monkees." Mike said, presenting it to Jessica._

" _The Monkees?" Jessica asked, looking at the cover, then flipping it over. "Here, let's go inside. I've got a record player. We'll see if it's worth it."_

" _Oh I hope it is." Mike mumbled to himself, following her back inside._

 _They walked back into the back of the shop into a small office. Jessica walked over to a small turntable and set up the record._ "Here we come, walking down the street…" _Mike cringed and blushed. Writing a theme song for them was all Micky's idea. It was one of those days where Micky had one of his ridiculous plans that_ just _had to be done. Mike didn't pick up on the fact that he put it on the album._ "Hey, hey, we're the Monkees! Hey, hey, we're the Monkees…" _The song faded and Jessica laughed._

" _What was that?"_

 _"It was my roommate's idea." Mike admitted. "The next song's better, I promise."_

" _I don't know, I thought that song was pretty fun." Jessica smiled. She had been looking over the album cover. "So you're a Monkee?"_

" _Depends on how you put it." Mike replied, relaxing a little bit. "I mean, evolution suggests that we're all monkeys, but as far as music is concerned, yes, I'm a Monkee."_

"Monday had a sad child, always feeling low down…"

"And she liked it so much she agreed to take it as payment." Mike finished, not daring to look at Micky or Peter.

There was a soft knock on the door and a nurse popped her head in. "Mr. Nesmith?"

"That's me." Mike said, turning away from his bandmates, not sure whether he was relieved or not.

"Mr. Jones is in the room right across from here. He was sedated for surgery but should be up in a couple hours." The nurse informed him.

"Surgery?" Peter asked, his face draining of all color. "Why did Davy need surgery?"

"I don't know, Shotgun." Mike replied, not looking at him. "I'll go check in on him. Thanks." Mike told the nurse before following her out.

"Mike! Wait," Micky interrupted.

"What?" Mike asked, turning back towards his friends.

"It's alright." Micky said with a forgiving smile.

"Yeah, we understand why you pretended to be Micky. If you didn't, Davy would be dead." Peter continued.

"What?" Micky asked, turning towards Peter. "No, I was saying it was alright that he used the record as payment." Micky now turned to talk to Mike. "Dressing up as me and going in after Davy was a bonehead move."

"Micky," Peter intervened. "Mike, go ahead and look after Davy. Micky and I need to talk."

"What?" Micky whined.

With a shy smile, Mike nodded and left, walking over to Davy's room.


	11. Chapter 11- In and Out Again

Chapter 11- In and Out Again

 _Richie Osmond stood, his back to the doorway. "So, Morales, break this down for me. What am I doing that's worth three-hundred dollars?"_

 _BabyFace Morales smiled his vicious, sickening smile. "You're going to break the ribs of a friend of an enemy, all while he's awake."_

" _Whoah, now." Richie held his hands up. "If he's going to be awake, I need to charge another one-fifty."_

" _We agreed three-hundred." BabyFace sneered._

" _That was your original price and you said nothing about him being awake." Richie got off the wall and walked over to the empty table in the room, putting on rubber gloves as he did so._

" _Fine. We'll leave him out." BabyFace grumbled, joining him at the table._

" _Besides, why is he so important? You said he was a friend of your enemy. Why don't you just hurt your enemy and save this kid the trouble?" Richie asked, noticing two gangsters carrying a young, blonde man into the room._

" _Because this_ will _hurt him." BabyFace said simply. "This enemy… he's in this band. This is one of his band mates. I've learned that they're all sensitive kids, so if I hurt one of them, I hurt all of them. This was just the first one I could get my hands on." The gangsters dropped the man onto the table in front of Richie. Richie reached for the chloroform bottle on a smaller table that was equipped with surgical tools. BabyFace snatched his hand before he could touch it._

" _What are you doing?" BabyFace demanded._

" _I'm going to make sure he doesn't wake up while I'm operating." Richie retorted, pulling his hand away and grabbing the bottle. "Unless you want to pay four-hundred and fifty bucks for my work, I suggest you let me work." BabyFace frowned, but didn't stop Richie from applying the odorless liquid to a washrag and placing it over the young man's face. Richie then carefully unbuttoned the man's shirt and grabbed a clean knife. "And so we begin…"_

"Mr. Nesmith?" A nurse whispered, poking her head into the doorway of Davy's room. Mike looked up to let her know she had his attention. "Visiting hours are over, now. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave." Mike nodded and stood, walking towards the door. Before leaving, he looked back at Davy.

In his hospital bed, he looked much older than they all knew he was. He had dark bags under his eyes and his skin was pale white, apart from the various purple bruises that haunted Mike for the last few days. They had a bandage wrapped around his head, along with his arms covered from his shoulder to his wrist in the white tape. They had told him that Davy was suffering from a concussion, as well as burns on his arms. There was some internal bleeding as well. He wasn't going to be able to eat anything solid for a while. When they first settled Davy in, the doctor told Mike that he should wake up in a few hours. That, of course, was over ten hours ago. Mike's stomach knotted with worry.

Micky stopped in every half hour or so to check in on them. Mike would silently rant to his band mate when the hours passed and their friend refused to stir. Micky would constantly reassure Mike that everything would be alright before retreating back to Peter's room to update Peter on Davy's physical condition, as well as Mike's mental condition.

"I wish I could help him." Peter would say after the update.

"All we can do right now is wait for Davy to wake up. Once he does, we'll know he's on the road to recovery and Mike will feel better." Micky would reassure him, even though Micky felt the same way. He wished he could help them.

Peter and Micky were conversing over their songs when Mike came into the room. "Visiting hours are over, Mick." Mike said, his Texas drawl apparent in his voice.

"Coming, Mike." Micky stood. "See you tomorrow, Peter." Micky said, giving Peter one of his genuine smiles.

"See you tomorrow Big Pete." Mike said as well, smiling too. Peter said his goodbyes to his two band mates and the two left.

"So how long have you been here?" Mike asked as they made their way back to the waiting room.

"About a week," Micky said. "Or at least I think it has been a week."

"So what have you been doing for the past week?" Mike asked.

"These two awfully nice ladies found Peter and brought him to the hospital. I met the younger of the two at a diner downtown. I have been staying with them. Once I tell them you're Mike I'm sure they will let you stay."

"What do you mean?"

"Peter and I have been telling these ladies about us. They opened up their home to us. Plus I need to pick up Annette from the diner. We can have dinner there."

"Whatever you say, Mick." Mike said as the two walked out of the hospital. The sun had set a few hours prior, and the chill of the night had set in. Micky quickened his pace to make it to the MonkeeMobile, however Mike kept a leisurely pace. After everything that had happened, he just wanted to slow down. He quickly caught himself thinking about how days prior, technically the year before, he and his friends were living life as any young adult could. Their lives were littered with crazy schemes, beautiful girls, and music. There was so much music. Mike smiled at the thought of returning to that life.

A muffled cry woke Mike from his reverie. Looking up, Micky was nowhere in sight. "Micky?" Mike asked cautiously. There was no answer. Mike froze in his tracks. The darkness had enveloped most of the parking lot, the only light coming from the minimal lamp posts and illuminated hospital behind him. "Micky? Where are you?"

"Over here, Mike." Mike could hear Micky say. Mike moved towards the voice, hoping to find the drummer.

"Micky? Come on out, I can barely see."

"I am out. Come this way." Mike obeyed, following the sound of Micky's voice. At the sight of the MonkeeMobile, Mike smiled and ran towards the beloved car.

"MIKE!" Micky screamed, this time his voice was heavy with worry and fear.

"Micky? Micky, where are you?" Suddenly, Mike could feel a large, sweaty hand wrap around his face and another hand tightly grip his forearm. The being who controlled the hands forced Mike away from the MonkeeMobile and closer to a small, black car. The closer Mike came to the car, the sooner Mike realized that there were two Mickys standing next to the car. One was standing free, a fedora atop his head and a pinstripe suit complimenting his evil demeanor. The other stood captive, donning the attire Mike remembered Micky wearing before. Two big men had Micky in their grasp, one of the men keeping a hand over Micky's mouth.

"Hello Michael." BabyFace smiled, walking up to the captive Monkee. He grabbed his jaw, pulling his face inches from his. "Think you could outsmart me, did you?" BabyFace released his grip so Mike could reply.

"Yeah." Mike huffed, his eyes darting from BabyFace to Micky, and back to BabyFace. BabyFace smiled, then demanded the two Monkees be thrown into the back of the small car. The thugs did so, shoving Micky in, then Mike. Once the two were in the car, one of the men squeezed in with them and shut the door. BabyFace pleasingly placed himself behind the wheel while another thug got into the passenger seat.

"Go ahead, Lennie." BabyFace said simply, and before they knew it, Mike and Micky were out cold, thanks to one swift move of a gigantic arm.


	12. Chapter 12- Old Habits Die Hard

_**Author's Note: This chapter is going to get a little gruesome. Remember the beginning of Peter's procedure with Richie and BabyFace? Well, this is an extension on that, I'm warning you now there will be blood, exposed organs, and dying.**_

Chapter 12- Old Habits Die Hard

The first thing Micky was consciously aware of was the rank smell of molding wood. A sharp pain in his head kept him from opening his eyes. Quickly he was aware of a hard, cold surface underneath him and leather straps around his wrists and ankles. The next thing he was aware of was the clinking of shoes on metal. Then he heard voices.

"Does this have to do with your enemy again?" Once voice asked curiously. Micky heard the sound of rubber being stretched and snapped into place.

"He's right over there." Micky heard his own voice say. "And the other one is another friend of his. More of an enemy now than before."

"Oh?" The other voice asked.

Suddenly, Micky was aware of Mike's voice, too. He was groaning, obviously waking up from being hit over the head. _'No, don't make any noise, Mike. They'll hear you.'_ Micky thought. However, the plea was worthless as Micky could hear the clicking sound once again. It got closer and closer until a sharp pain shot through Micky's face.

"Wake up, Dolenz." BabyFace demanded. Reluctantly, Micky opened his eyes to look into that of his doppelganger. He watched as BabyFace walked over to Mike, who was strapped to a table as well, and slapped him too. Micky cringed at the sound of skin on skin as Mike shook awake. "Good morning fellas, time to play."

"I doubt it." Mike deadpanned, but received another slap as punishment.

"Oh, it will be fun." BabyFace laughed, "Meet my friend, Richie. He's a professional surgeon. He will be performing your operation today."

"O-operation?" Micky asked, now finding his voice.

"Don't worry 'cousin.'" BabyFace teased. "You're not going first. Tony, move his table around so he can watch." Suddenly, Micky felt the table move beneath him. He was lurched upright and turned to face Mike. Micky met Mike's eyes, both passing each other a note of worry. "Alright Richie, do your stuff."

Richie nodded. He walked up to Mike and began unbuttoning his shirt. Micky realized what was about to happen. "What are you doing to him?" He found himself shouting.

"What I'm getting paid for." Richie said over the laughter of BabyFace Morales.

"No!" Micky yelped as Richie donned a knife from a nearby table that was full of medical tools. Mike could only stare down at his now bare chest, all hope missing from his eyes.

"Don't you worry, Dolenz, we're not going to kill him… yet." BabyFace said, stepping closer to Mike's table.

"Get away from him!" Micky yelled, trying to reach out and grab BabyFace, but no luck coming from being bound to a table. "Stop it!"

"Tony, gag him." BabyFace said, looking over Richie's shoulder as he began to make an incision on Mike's chest. The room was suddenly filled with a symphony of laughter and cries of pain. Tony Ferano, the old gangster Micky remembered from their last encounter, took a dirty bandanna and tied it around Micky's mouth.

"I 'r 'ou 'oing his?" Micky tried to say through the bandanna.

"Sorry?" BabyFace mocked him, putting a hand to his ear.

Micky struggled, but eventually got the gag onto his chin. "Why are you doing this?"

"Ah," BabyFace replied, shouting over Mike's screams. "I'm doing it because you Monkees busted the biggest jewel heist of my career! You put me in jail!"

"You already were in jail!" Micky retorted, still struggling against the binds. The screams of pain were suddenly silenced as Richie switched tools.

BabyFace smiled, stepping away from the operation table and closing in on Micky. "Jail doesn't fit the bill, kid. I've been a thief all my life. There's nothing to steal in prison."

"So? What purpose is there to thievery and stealing?"

"Money! I don't have to pay a cent for what I steal, and I get thousands of dollars for selling it! It's life, Micky. You have to learn how to survive."

"But you don't need to steal." Micky pleaded. "You don't need to hurt people when things don't go your way. Is that what you did to Peter? You hurt him like that just to get revenge for what we did? That doesn't make any sense." Micky glanced back and forth between the gangster and Mike, who was now barely conscious. "Mike and Peter were only trying to protect me, that's why they tagged along back when I was pretending to be you. I don't even know what Davy did to make you mad, but it's not right. There is no point to hurting people."

"So you think." BabyFace sneered. "How would you feel if your entire life, your fortune, your work, was all stripped away from you in one swift click of the handcuffs? It's miserable, it's painful. There's a certain excitement that is associated with my line of work, you see, and I live off that excitement. However, when it is all taken away by a bunch of no-good long haired weirdos, I get mad. And the only way to satisfy that anger is by hurting those who hurt me. I hurt your friends because I know it hurts you. I don't have to lay a finger on you to get you to feel pain. Physical pain is always fun to inflict, but mental pain is a treasure, one that can be hard to achieve. Making you watch Michael as his ribs are broken one by one is a dream come true. And you know what? I'll even let you watch as he slowly dies. Then once he's dead, I'll kill you too. Slow and painful, just like your friend."

When those final words left his mouth, BabyFace gagged, clutching his stomach. He fell to the floor, pain written on his face.

Richie pulled the knife from BabyFace's back and proceeded to cut Micky's binds. When Tony tried to stop him, Richie gave him one swift punch in the jaw, knocking the man out cold, but causing extreme pain in that hand. Once he got one hand free, he handed the knife to Micky so he could free himself. In utter shock, Micky silently finished cutting the binds.

"There's a back entrance to this place." Richie explained, cradling his injured hand. "Go that way and call the police. Get an ambulance for this man, too."

"What?" Micky asked, still in shock. "Who- who are you?"

"As said before, I'm a professional surgeon who got to meet your hippie friend. While you were arguing with Morales, I reflected on what your friend told me. The money isn't worth it anymore."

"What are you talking about?" Micky asked again, still confused.

Richie sighed, kicking BabyFace as he tried to get up again. "I'll take care of BabyFace and his goons, just go! The exit is that way." Richie exclaimed, pointing down a dark hall. Hesitantly, Micky ran off down the hall, in search of the exit.

Richie Osmond watched as BabyFace's look-alike ran off down the hall. "God's speed." He muttered, a small smile on his face. He walked over to Mike, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, kid. I really am. I'll get what I deserve, just hang on till help arrives."

Two cold, wet hands wrapped around his throat, sending him backwards. Richie tried to pry them off, but could only get one off due to the inability to use his other hand.

"Traitor!" BabyFace screamed, strangling the surgeon.

"Get… off… me!" Richie yelled, backing BabyFace into a wall with all his strength. Richie heard a scream and noticed Mike trying to get up to help. It was a bonehead move, really. Once Mike realized he could not move from that table without potentially dying, he laid back down, his face twisted in pain.

Richie ran the gangster into another wall, this time the hands freeing him from his grasp. Richie ran for his tools, quickly grabbing a chisel and charging towards BabyFace. Richie dug the chisel into his stomach, causing the gangster to yelp in pain. Richie knew he just had to fend off BabyFace till help arrived, since he could not move Mike without killing him. His incision was still wide open, his insides peaking out through the globs of blood he was losing.

Suddenly Micky returned, running straight to Mike's side. Richie joined him. "We have to help him!" Micky proclaimed, not exactly sure what to do.

"This procedure was designed to kill him. I don't have the tools to keep him alive while I sew him up. We have to wait till help arrives." Richie notice's Micky's worry and felt sorry for the kid. Richie sighed, "Look, I'm sorry kid."

"You did this to Peter, too?" Micky asked, his eyes not wavering from his dying friend.

"Yes." Richie replied, looking at Mike as well.

"Why?" Micky asked.

"I was getting paid. After I visited your friend at the hospital, he gave me this sermon on life values and that hippie-dippy stuff. While I was cutting your friend open here, I thought back to what he said. I realized it's not worth it anymore. Why am I ruining other people's lives just because my life sucked?" Richie sighed, petting his injured hand. "I realized it was time to give up and turn myself in. I can't keep doing this anymore without being reminded of your friend's words."

Suddenly, policemen and doctors burst into the room. Some went over to BabyFace, others to Tony who was still unconscious on the floor. Two male policemen ran over to Micky and Richie while a stretcher was brought in by a team of nurses. Richie and Micky backed away from the table to let them take Mike away. Micky could feel his heart in his throat as he watched the gruesome rescue.

"Which of you is Micky Dolenz?" One policeman asked.

"I am." Micky said. "That there was my friend Mike Nesmith, and this is…"

"Richie Osmond." Richie introduced himself.

"Say," The other policeman said, "You break your hand?"

"Probably. I punched Tony over there." Richie shrugged off the injury, but then held his arms out to the police. "However, I was the one who opened up Mike. I'm willing to be arrested and to be questioned."

"What makes you think that?" One of the policemen asked.

"BabyFace Morales hired me to cut him open and let him die." Richie admitted, trying very hard to get this over with. "I should be arrested."

"Well you need a doctor first," The policeman said. "Mr. Dolenz, are you injured?"

"I-I don't think so." Micky admitted, giving himself a glance over.

"Go and get checked out by one of the doctors, just in case." The other policeman said. They escorted the two men out of the building and into the parking lot outside. It was crazy with ambulances and police, the bright, flickering lights of their cars blinding Micky momentarily.

A doctor gave Micky a check up and confirmed he was fine. Micky asked to go to the hospital with Mike, but the ambulance had already left with him inside. Micky noticed that BabyFace was being loaded into an ambulance while Tony was loaded into a police car. A policewoman offered to drive Micky to the hospital. Micky accepted the offer, getting into a police car and riding away. The last thing he saw in that parking lot was Richie, who stood between two policemen, his hand being bound by bandages, handcuffs dangling on his wrists.


	13. Chapter 13- No Words (Or a Lot)

Chapter 13- No Words (Or a Lot)

Micky sat in the waiting room, his head in his hands. Looking up at the clock, he noted that he still had at least half an hour till he could see any of his friends. As every minute ticked on, Micky's eagerness grew. Soon he was tapping his feet and drumming with his hands without realizing it. He was all too eager to see his friends make it out of this okay. The young drummer had been sitting in this waiting room for a good five hours, too tired to do anything productive, but too worried to sleep. Last he could consciously remember, Peter was on a safe and comfortable road to recovery, while the unknown still laid with Davy and Mike. Mike had just been admitted into the hospital, whereas Davy still had not woken up from his surgery. Micky secretly hoped that Davy had woken up while they were away, even though he toiled with the idea of waking up alone and confused in a strange hospital. Neither the idea of Davy waking up alone or not waking up at all comforted him.

Micky heard a rough, raspy cough from beside him. He looked over. To his surprise, Mildred sat next to him, wearing a look that told him he was in trouble. "Mildred! W-what are you doing here?" Micky asked, still too tired to realize _why_ she was here.

"What happened to you last night?" She asked in her mother voice. "Not only was Annette and I worried sick, but _I_ had to pick Annette up from work. She called me at ten o'clock at night to tell me she was _still_ at the diner."

"Sorry, Mike and I got into some trouble." Micky said quietly, looking down at his feet to avoid her gaze.

"Mike? Who's Mike?" Mildred asked.

"Mike is one of my band mates, Mildred. He's the one who wears the wool hat a lot." Micky suddenly sobered. ' _Mike's hat! When did he last have it? Was it still in Ms. Purdy's car? Was he wearing it when we were kidnapped?'_ Micky knew his friend was not wearing it when he had been beaten and opened up at the warehouse. Did it get lost between the parking lot and the warehouse? Mildred cleared her throat to bring him back when she notice him not paying any attention to her.

"Right, uh," Micky said, rubbing the back of his neck. "See, Mike had saved Davy, and while looking for Peter and I, Davy needed a doctor, so he was admitted here. That's when Mike and I found each other and then we were kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?" Mildred gasped. "Was it by that Morales fella?"

"Yes, ma'am. But he's in prison, for sure, now." Micky said with a shy smile.

"Well that's good. Now where is this Mike character?" Mildred asked.

"He got beat up pretty bad, Mildred. He's in back with Davy and Peter. I can't see him till visiting hours begin." Micky sighed, leaning back and stretching. "They did the same thing to him that they did to Peter, except Mike wasn't patched up afterwards. I don't really know how far they got with Mike, I was a tied down at the moment."

"Mr. Dolenz?" A young nurse interrupted. "You're here to see Mr. Tork, yes?"

"And my other friends as well," Micky said, standing. "David Jones and Mike Nesmith."

"Oh, yes. Dr. Tennant told me to tell you that Mr. Nesmith is right next to Mr. Jones in Room 114."

"Thank you," Micky said, standing. He and Mildred followed the nurse into the halls of the hospital. She left them when they reached rooms 111, 112, and 114.

Micky stood in the hall, torn between the three rooms. There was only one of him and three of them. Who should he visit first? He needed to know if Davy had woken up yet, but he also felt obligated to be with Mike. However, he always started the morning with stopping in with Peter. He looked at Room 111. He quickly decided on a plan and opened the door to the room.

"Good morning Micky!" Peter said happily as Micky stepped into the room. Mildred followed him. "Good morning, Mildred. It's good to see you this morning."

Micky moved to speak, planning on telling Peter about what had happened that night, but no words left his mouth. His face fell when he couldn't find the right words to tell Peter that now Mike was admitted into the hospital. Peter noticed this right away and made to question it, but Mildred stopped the both of them.

"Micky, why don't you go check on the others, I will keep Peter company, as well as explain the best I can of what you told me." She pulled up a chair to Peter's bed and situated herself. When Micky was frozen in his spot, she gestured for him to leave.

"Uh, right, okay. I'll be back a little later Pete, so I can fill in any extra details." Micky turned and left the room.

"What's going on?" Peter asked Mildred when Micky shut the door behind him.

"Well…" Mildred began.

* * *

A soft knock came from the door. After a moment of silence, the door creaked open, revealing the drummer of the Monkees. He looked down upon the band member sleeping in the hospital bed, his heart sinking. He looked so… dead. He knew that wasn't the case. It _couldn't_ be the case. He lightened up a little at the sight of Mike's green wool hat on Davy's nightstand.

"Davy?" Micky asked, quietly shutting the door behind him. He frowned when he got no reply from the petite percussionist. "I wonder if you can hear me…" Micky wondered aloud, sitting in a chair. "I mean, if you can, great. I've got a lot to say. Well, I always have a lot to say. Mike and I were kidnapped by BabyFace last night, so I could talk about that. Or I could chew you out for not going to the hospital when Mike first saved you. Though for both topics I would prefer you to be awake and listening. So that leaves me to either just ramble on and on, or sing. What do you think, Davy?" Micky shook his head when Davy, of course, didn't respond. He sighed and leaned back, considering his options.

"I thought love was only true in fairy tales. Meant for someone else, but not for me. Love was out to get me, that's the way it seemed. Disappointment haunted all of my dreams…" Micky sang softly, not wanting to start the chorus. After letting the silence fill the room, Micky decided to leave and check in on Mike. "I'll be back to check in on you, Davy. I'm going to see how Mike's getting along."

"Thanks," A small, raspy voice said, causing chills to crawl up Micky's spine. He quickly turned around to see Davy smiling at him, his eyes halfway open. When he made eye contact with the Brit, Davy continued, "I need the silence."

"Hey, I take offense!" Micky joked, trying to conceal a smile, but failed. He gave a hearty laugh.

"When you come back, tell me how Mike's doing." Davy said, closing his eyes again.

"I will," Micky said, leaving the room to let Davy sleep.

Micky stepped out into the hall and turned to walk into room 114. However, the door to 114 opened, revealing a young, thin, and dashing doctor. He smiled when he saw Micky standing there. Over the last week Micky learned that this man was the man who was attending his friends, Dr. Tennant.

"Ah, Micky! Good morning to ya," Dr. Tennant greeted the drummer. "You on your way to visit Michael?"

"Yes, how is he?" Micky asked eagerly.

"He's doing surprisingly well for all that has happened. He just woke up when I was in there. If you like, you can go and visit with him. We were able to sew him back up. Your captors were only able to break two ribs, unlike Mr. Tork, and he is recovering surprisingly well. I would say that, if all continues to go well, we will be able to release both he and David at the same time."

"How long till Peter is released?" Micky asked.

"I'd say Saturday of this week." Dr. Tennant smiled. "He's been healing very well for the injuries that he had. However, I do have to say that I don't think it would be wise for him to do any physical labor such as lifting, running, or working till the 24th at the earliest."

"The 24th? What's today?" Micky asked. He honestly had no idea what day it was. Everything happened so quickly, he couldn't keep track.

"Today is the 7th, of January, Micky." Dr. Tennant said with a hint of concern.

"1969," Micky breathed. _What a great start for the new year, right?_

"Right," Dr. Tennant looked down at his clipboard to review some information. "I have also been told that Sergeant Starkey would like a word with you once you get a chance. He's out in the waiting room. We don't want him stressing out the others until they are well enough."

"Okay, is this about last night?" Micky asked.

"I assume it is about this whole ordeal. He wants to cement not only your confessions, but the confessions of David, Peter, and Mike, as well."

"Right, right, thanks for telling me, Doc." Micky said, waving off the idea. Dr. Tennant nodded and walked off into Davy's room. Micky turned and walked into Mike's room, relieved to hear that all of his friends were going to be alright in the end.


	14. Chapter 14- Home Sweet Home

Chapter 14- Home Sweet Home

Well, the weeks they came and went. Micky continued to stay and care for Annette and Mildred while the doctors took care of his friends. By the end of the week, Peter joined him at the house, helping Mildred out around the house while Micky drove Annette here, there, and everywhere. It wasn't that she wasn't capable of driving herself, it was just that Micky could only sit down for such a short amount of time without breaking something or causing a national emergency. Quickly the boys found out that the reward for catching BabyFace Morales, as well as his gang members, was able to cover all of their hospital bills. Now all they had to do was wait for the day they could all go home and resume a presumably normal life.

It was in that last week in January in which that day finally came. It was in the early morning when Peter and Micky found out, causing them to run back to the house to nab the clothes the girls had bought them for when they were released. By the time they got back to the hospital, Mike and Davy were in a curious fit as to the disappearance of their friends.

After the two of them got better, doctors allowed them to stay in the same room. They were both moved into a larger room down the hall from their old rooms, causing Peter confusion from time to time.

Micky and Peter walked down the hall, a bag slung over Micky's shoulder. Peter stopped at 112, preparing to knock. Micky quickly pulled him away, shaking his head. "They're down here." He said motioning towards room 121 down the hall. Peter nodded and they continued down the hall. When they reached 121, Micky knocked.

"Come in," Davy's voice said from the other side. Micky and Peter entered, smiles on their faces. "Hi fellas!" Davy said cheerfully. Mike, more or less. He simply nodded in greeting and turned his attention back to the mess of papers on his bed. He fought to reach over the guitar that served as a barrier between him and the music.

"Guess what today is!" Micky said cheerfully, throwing the bag he had at Mike. Catching the Texan off guard, Mike hit the bag with a swift arm, causing it to hit the floor.

"What could possibly be so important that you have to throw stuff at me?" Mike asked, still in shock from the throw.

Peter quickly ran to the floor and picked up the bag. Micky laughed as Peter replaced the bag onto Mike's bed. "Today's the day we all go home," Micky declared.

The silence was so deafening, the only noise that was heard was that of the bag falling to the floor again.

"Sorry, say that again?" Davy asked.

"We're going home. The two of you are going to be released today." Micky beamed.

"You're kidding!" Mike said, finally smiling.

"Of course not!" Peter laughed. "Why would we joke about this?"

Micky shook his head. "Peter, he…" The looks he got from Mike and Davy told him not to even try and explain it. "Right, in the bag are your clothes."

"Clothes?" Mike asked, peeking inside the bag.

"Annette and Mildred bought them for you." Peter added, smiling.

"They shouldn't have," Davy said when Mike handed him the bag after he had pulled out the clothes that were his size.

"They insisted," Micky blushed. "They bought Peter and I clothes, too." Micky gestured towards the bright orange shirt he was wearing, as well as the green-and-purple poka-dot shirt Peter was wearing. "When we get all the release papers signed, we need to head back to Annette and Mildred's to finish packing up everything.

"P-packing?" Davy asked. "What is there to pack? Peter was kidnapped, You blindly ran after him, and Mike blindly ran after you!"

"Again," Peter said, "The girls insisted. Along with the clothes they bought us, Mildred is also sending us away with some food for home. They're going to put it all in Ms. Purdy's car."

"Yeah, we'll need to head back to pick up her car, anyway." Micky added.

"And say goodbye to the girls as well." Peter finished.

Mike was ready to ask another question, but he was interrupted by Dr. Tennant coming into the room. "Good morning, men," He said cheerfully. "I assume Micky and Peter have told you the good news?"

"Yes sir," Mike said, taking the guitar off his chest and placing it up against the bed. He began taking all of the music he was working on and organizing them in a neat pile.

"Do you have the release papers?" Davy asked eagerly. Dr. Tennant held up a stack of papers and handed them to Davy.

"Have Micky or Peter run them down to the main desk so we can send nurses to come get you." Dr. Tennant nodded at all of the men in the room and left. The Monkees quickly got to work. They couldn't wait to go home.

* * *

The sun began to set across the beach's horizon. It had been days since there was any activity in the small beach house, and yet another day was passing. However, there was the creak of a door. In entered Mrs. Purdy, her arms full of sealed envelopes. She clicked on the nearest light switch, illuminating the house. Behind her entered Mr. Babbit, a frown etched across his face.

"Hurry yourself, Clara. I'd like to go to bed." Mr. Babbit grumbled, watching her from the doorway.

"Oh, come on, Sam, admit it, you like those four boys as much as everyone else. I'm doing them a favor by bringing in their mail. They have a lot of important papers in this pile." Mrs. Purdy said, placing the pile of envelopes on the dining table. She began searching for a pen.

"They're the Monkees," Mr. Babbit pointed out. "What could be in their mail that is _so important?"_

"Take a look for yourself, Sam." Mrs. Purdy offered, finally finding a stray pen in one of the kitchen drawers. Mr. Babbit shrugged and walked over the table, reading the labels on the envelopes. He glanced at each one quickly, not really caring what he saw. Mrs. Purdy caught on as she wrote a letter to the Monkees on a notepad she found. "I presume that some of those envelopes contain checks, Sam. Money. Now they can pay rent more regularly than usual."

"Who the heck is sending these boys money?" Mr. Babbit scoffed, throwing the envelopes back onto the table.

"The record company they have a contract with," Mrs. Purdy pointed out. "It was a gift for David and Michael, remember?"

"You got them a deal with a record company?" Mr. Babbit asked. "You told me you were using the money for a fundraiser to clean up the neighborhood!"

"Well, we knew you wouldn't give if we told you the truth." Mrs. Purdy blushed. "Anyway, now they have a steady income, so now they can pay rent. You should be happy about that, shouldn't you Sam? I mean, that's the only thing you bother them about."

"Knock it off, Clara, and let's go. Are you done with your silly letter yet?" Mr. Babbit huffed, walking back towards the front door.

"And… done!" Mrs. Purdy proclaimed after signing the document. She placed it on the top of the pile of mail and followed Mr. Babbit out, turning off the lights on the way. "You should really be nicer to those boys, Sam. You know…" Mrs. Purdy continued to lecture as she closed the door behind her.

* * *

A few more hours later, after the night sky casted its eerie glow through the beach house windows, a car could be heard pulling up to the house. Minutes later, the door swung open, revealing two of the four current residents. Both men had their hands full of paper bags, filled with food. One man clumsily searched for a light while the other navigated his way towards the kitchen table. The pad lit up with light as it had when Mrs. Purdy and Mr. Babbit were around earlier, giving the two men light to see. They both placed the bags on the counter, noticing the pile of papers on the table.

"How'd these get here?" One man asked, beginning to go through the papers.

"Mrs. Purdy might have brought them in," the other suggested, walking over to the table as well. "I hope Davy and Peter don't give her a heart attack with their sudden appearance with her car."

"She might be expecting us," The other man said, "Here's a letter from her." He handed Mike the letter on top. Mike read it aloud.

"Dear Boys,

I noticed that your mailbox was beginning to overflow, so I brought your mail in for you. Mr. Babbit was kind enough to let me in. In this pile there are some envelopes that will serve you a great deal of joy as well as success. If you need anything of me, please don't hesitate to ask. I will continue to monitor your mail for you till you four return home safely.

Sincerely, Mrs. Purdy."

"Joy and success?" Micky asked, beginning to look through the envelopes. Mike placed the letter to the side and picked up an envelope himself.

"It's from the Rafelson Recording Studio." Mike said, reading the front of the envelope.

"Hey, that's the place we have a record deal with," Micky said, picking up another envelope from the same place. He ripped it open and pulled out a letter as well as a check. "Gosharoony, look at this, Mike! It's our split from the sales we made! This letter looks like it just talks about all the legal details and how much we make off of profits."

Mike opened up the envelope in his hand as well, pulling out another check. "Micky, do you know what this means?"

"We're gonna be rich!" Micky yelled with excitement.

"Besides that," Mike sighed. "This means we're going to be famous." Mike picked up another envelope and opened it. Inside this one was a letter. "This letter here says that they would like us to contact them at the earliest convenience… Apparently someone informed them that we were all missing… They- they would like to record another album with us?"

"Really?" Micky asked, running over and snatching the paper from Mike's hands. "Hey, they do! This is great!"

"What is?" Davy asked from the doorway. Peter stood behind him, both he and Davy's arms full of grocery bags as well. "You two didn't finish taking all the food from the car. What gives?"

"This!" Micky smiled, waving the letter above his head. "We're going to be famous. We're going to be somebody!"

"Really?" Peter asked. "Did that record company get a hold of us?"

"More than that, Shotgun." Mike smiled. "They want us to make another album."

"You must be joking!" Davy said, continuing further into the pad and placing the groceries on the table. Micky handed him the letter and he quickly read it over. "I don't believe it…"

"When do we start?" Peter asked, mimicking Davy's journey towards the kitchen.

"Whenever we get back from being missing, I presume," Micky laughed. "Which would be now."

"Fellas," Mike smiled, reeling them all in for a group hug. "This is a new beginning. Welcome to the Monkees." The four men laughed with joy. It was definitely a new beginning. The year 1969 was going to be their year.


	15. Epilogue- The Parting of the Ways

Epilogue- Parting of the Ways

 ** _December 31st, 1969_**

Peter looked around the empty room, taking in the realization that they were going to leave. The bandstand was bare, and so was the kitchen cupboards, but that wasn't new to them. He knew that if anyone went into the upstairs bedroom, there would be nothing there. All the furniture had been either sold or divided among them. The last remnants of their old life was the old beach house itself. It had seen so much, waited so long, and finally she would be called someone else's home. Mr. Babbit seemed a little too excited to see them leave, but that didn't bother him much.

"Peter?" A familiar female voice said. The voice was accompanied by a hand taking its hold on his own. "Are you ready?"

Peter looked down at his fiance, but did not respond. He then heard from behind him another familiar voice. Micky's.

"Time to go, Big Pete," Micky laughed nervously. "The girls are waiting." Peter turned to see Micky had his arm around his girlfriend, Cynthia.

"I think they can wait a moment longer. Could you leave us alone for a bit, Jan?" Peter asked. His fiance nodded and left the room with Cynthia in tow. Micky stepped forward to stand side by side with Peter. "I just can't believe it, Micky."

"I can't either," Micky breathed. Both he and Peter walked up to the bandstand where they looked out the windows at the restless beach below. "I sure am going to miss the view."

"I will, too." Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "So much has happened this year, it's difficult to believe that a year ago we had been abducted by-"

"Don't say it," Micky stopped him. "I don't want to be reminded of _him_." Micky shuttered. Both men laughed.

"Sorry, sorry," Peter joked. "Do you think we'll ever come back here?"

"I don't know," A voice butted in from behind. The two men turned to see Davy and Mike walking towards them. The voice had belonged to Mike. "I just don't know. However, just because we're moving out doesn't mean this is the end of us."

"Yeah," Davy added. "We'll see each other on Monday at the recording studio."

Peter smiled, turning back towards the beach. "True, but this was where it all began, on this stage. So many songs, so many adventures. All of that has become our fame, our fortune, our albums."

"And those memories will come with us." Micky said, placing a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Time passes, life changes. I mean, we all have girls now. Last year it was usually Davy who got them all."

"Hey!" Davy laughed, knowing where this was going. "Don't let Marcia hear you."

"You mean she doesn't know about Fern and the time we had to isolate you from women?" Mike poked at him.

"She doesn't need to!" Davy protested. "And if I find out one of you did tell her, I'll kill ya."

Suddenly the sound of a car horn broke off the joking conversation. After the horn was heard Davy jumped at the sound of his wife's voice. "Too late, Davy Jones. You have some explaining to do." They all turned to see her standing in the doorway with Peter's fiance and Micky's girlfriend behind her.

"Yeah, and I don't think you guys want to keep us waiting any longer, Carol has control of your car, Mike," Jan teased. "She might just drive off without you."

"The three of us might, too." Cynthia added.

"You wouldn't," Micky said, eyeing down his girlfriend.

"You wanna test us, Dolenz?" Cynthia chided, turning and running off. The other girls laughed and ran off as well.

"Well, I guess we'll leave as we always do," Mike sighed.

"Running?" Davy asked.

"Running," Micky confirmed.

And off they went, running out of their old home into the rest of their lives. They were the Monkees, and now they're exposed to the rest of the world.


End file.
